The Road
by whatcatydidnext
Summary: Ricky is more than the sum of his parts, much more. He loves life and all it offers, he has no trouble trying the world on his own terms.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and make no money from them.  
>Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<p>

NC17

The Road 1

Ricky woke with a smile at the feel of soft lips gliding up and down his cock.

"Oh, yes, that's nice pet." He slid his hands in to the short soft hair that bobbed at his groin, arching back as nimble fingers caressed the ridge at the base of his balls.

Christ, but she knew her stuff, he thought as groaned and lurched into his climax. His jaw clenched and he gripped harder.

"Ah…yes, that's so good. Aye bonnie lass, you just…" he was caught now, grinding forward, pumping himself into the hot, tight, wetness. He glanced down into the bright young adoring eyes smiling back at him as the eager lips and tongue did their work.

Ricky frowned, the name of the girl escaped him, hell, the_ girl_ escaped him. He didn't remember bringing anyone back with him last night.

"Christ, what the fuck!"

Billy's young enthusiastic face looked back up at him.

"You looked so good man; I just knew you'd…"

"Ah, Fuck, no…I…" but the rush of blood and sensation over took him."Oh, Jez boy!"

Billy wanted to finish what he'd started, and Rick didn't move away. He wanted to come whatever the sex of his partner.

Billy speeded up, and Ricky clung to the dark head at his groin. He found himself pumping his hips till the white light and shriek of blood in his ears exploded. And he came in the willing mouth that held him.

A week later, Billy Lister was dead.

Ricky Deeming was well aware of the rumours, he laughed at them. He was a man at home with art, music, and sensation. His love of life was exuberant, He loved literature, his favourite writer was Shaw, fuck could that man write!

But some saw that exuberance as flamboyance. Ricky wrote poetry, big mistake, the one teacher who encouraged him was queer, everyone knew that, they didn't understand it, but they knew. This labelled him queer too.

Not that he cared too much. Ricky liked girls, but at school his rep was always as 'the noisy queer'. Girls his age at school were scared of the big, excitable puppy of a boy he was.

Till Magda.

She was his Auntie Pip's friend and had come from Hungary to England after the war. She was a scientist and, like his Auntie Pip, had never married. She was a sophisticated woman, knew about all the things he liked, writers, musicians, artists.

She'd fucked Picasso for Christ sake. Or at least Auntie Pip said she had.

And she taught Ricky all about sex. And taught him well, he was an apt and willing pupil.

Aunt Pip had not quite approved but she indulged him.

Amilia and Phillipa Deeming were sisters. They'd been 'society gels'; the family had been wealthy, but bohemian. Phillipa 'Pip' was the artist, but Amilia was the beautiful intellectual. Marriage was for neither of them.

Ricky's mother had him when she was 27 and living in Madrid. 1937 was a whole other world for a single mother. She never named his father, just brought him home to England. Giving him the Deeming name. But then the Deeming's were not your average family.

When Amilia brought her new son back from Spain, Pip was delighted, everyone else, horrified. To compound her sin, Amilia got a place at Girton College Cambridge. When the war came she went to work for the SOE as a wireless operator. Her partner, Merle was soon much more. Then came the fateful night when his message was clearly not from him. She knew this meant he was probably dead, and she volunteered for active service. She was captured in France and died in Ravensbruck the day after the Russians liberated it.

This was Ricky Deeming's mother, how could he be ordinary?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and make no money from them.  
>Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<p>

NC17

The Road 2

Ricky's earliest memory was of being held by his Aunt Pip. Not just cradled or bounced on her knee, but held out, as if being offered to someone or something. Then there was the smell, thick, bitter, oily. It filled his young lungs, but he didn't cough or choke, he breathed it in, it charged him.  
>Of course, Aunt Pip was not offering him to the gods of the road, she was doing what someone had told her was good for babies, holding him over the big barrel of boiling tar at the side of the new road. It would prevent him getting Whooping Cough. A popular myth and Aunt Pip liked to try these things out. Well you never knew. It might work.<br>But to Ricky, it was a defining moment in his life; he _was_ offered to the gods of The Road, and they took him as their disciple. From his earliest conscious acknowledgement of the outside world, The Road was his church, his home, his love. And to ride was to be at one with The Road. To ride his machine at speed was to touch the darkness in his soul. It was a darkness he felt acutely; it separated him from others, his mother, his aunt, lovers, friends. Ricky was alone, he liked it. Maybe his mother dying when he was young did it. Maybe his aunt's detachment. Maybe it was in his soul, a gift from those gods.  
>Others seemed to need him, but he never needed them. He liked people, laughed, ate, drank, had sex, was kind to those he thought needed kindness. But he saw them as frail, faulty, incomplete. He knew the only true thing was The Road.<p>

Watching her move about the room was pure pleasure. He lay back against the pillows and took a drag on his cigarette. She must know what she was doing. Putting on his shirt and walking around like that was so bloody sexy. He inclined his head to one side. Improving the view she was now affording him of her small neat arse as she leaned forward over the sink.  
>Yea, she knew.<br>"My, but, that's a fine little backside ya got there, pet."  
>She turned to face him and laughed. The shirt was unbuttoned, allowing him the very pleasant sight of her dainty breasts and pale v of her sex.<br>"Stop looking at me." She giggled. "It's unnerving."  
>"Come back ta bed an I won't have ta watch ya so close." He let the ciggie droop in the corner of his mouth and pulled back the sheet, inviting her in.<br>"You just want to fuck again."  
>He loved the Debby types, loved hearing them use language that mummy and daddy would shudder at. Loved how little it took for them to leave the 'nice' world of gymkhanas and finishing schools to crawl into bed with him, the big, greasy, Geordie biker.<br>"Dinna havta, pet, thor's uther things ya can do." His eyes crinkled at the rising smoke.  
>She came up the bed on all fours, like a cat. "And what would that be? A little fallatio perhaps?"<br>"I dinna ken aboot that, but ya can suck ma cock if ya like bonnie lass?" He thickened his accent, and settled back. Fallatio! Posh word from a posh bird. Maybe he'd ask if she felt like a little cunnilingus.  
>Oh, he did like the Debby ones.<p>

Aunt Pip's was really the only home Ricky had ever known. He'd lived there since his mother had brought him back, as a baby, from Madrid, 28 years before. Then when he was 8, Amilia, his mother, had died.  
>He was an oddity, a local boy, but alien. He assumed that his mother's insistence that he learned to speak Russian was because his father was Russian, but frankly, with Amilia, you never knew. She left no clue as to the man's identity. Occasionally, she had smiled to herself when Rick asked pertinent questions. But, as she never gave him pertinent answers, the thoughtful child stopped asking.<br>Amilia had left him with his aunt, and gone off to university, then into 'war work' as it was euphemistically known. So that actually he saw very little of her before she died. To him, she was enigmatic. A beautiful, brave heroine of the battle to free the world of the horrors of the Jackboot.  
>Aunt Pip was kind, but an artist, caught up in her own world, she did the things she needed to for him, but…<br>To Rick, women were comforters. You wanted one, you found one, used it, and then moved on. His ambiguity about his sexuality stemmed only from one relationship when he was doing National Service and a couple of hours with Billy Lister three years previously. There were those who had assumed for years that he was queer. His friendship with a male English teacher hadn't helped. Writing poetry hadn't helped. Being bloody minded hadn't helped! But Ricky Deeming would rather walk on hot coals than do what others expected him to.  
>The three deaths of Billy, Lawrie and Shirley, then his own brush with Webster, and the blow torch he took to his face, had sent Rick back to his aunt's. It was a refuge while his wounds, real and figurative, healed.<br>Her house was large, comfortable. She was in her late 50's and had a full life of her own, so they met only on occasions, in the kitchen, on the stairs, rarely for formal meals, or even chats. She would have friends over for dinner and he might crash and eat with them. But to him they were as bad as the rest of the establishment. They had their cosy views about the evils of capitalism, how socialism would save the world.  
>Magda had shown him all about free love when he was 17. And he learned those lessons well. Women liked him, and when he wanted to be, he was a good lover.<br>When he wanted to be, and when he got what he wanted.  
>Trouble was, he didn't always know what he wanted. Sometimes, when the darkness was on him, he hurt people. Magda said it was his Russian soul, but as he had no idea if his father was actually Russian, he just laughed.<br>She liked that darkness all the same.  
>But Magda was long gone, off liberating the sexuality of the young male students at Kent State, Ohio. She was a professor of chemistry and he vaguely remembered something about a twisted cell. Their conversations had not really risen much above sex. Which was OK with him, she hadn't been interested in motorbikes.<p>

And his bike was his life.  
>He'd bought her when he was 21. The money was just sitting in the bank. Aunt Pip wasn't happy, but frankly when he came back from Malaya at the end of his National Service, he was a man. Experience had darkened the darkness. There were things from that time that hung about his conscience.<br>The gods of The Road and Speed freed him.  
>He got the bike. And he loved her.<br>She was a 1958 Norton Manx 500cc racer, she was a dream. He lavished time and a lot of elbow grease on her. Every inch of her beautiful body work gleamed. He wasn't obsessive, well not by his lights. He just liked to treat her with the respect due an exquisitely turned out, magnificent piece of powered mystical art. The machine gave him what people couldn't, what he couldn't give himself.  
>Ricky Deeming was rarely what anyone expected...<p>

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and make no money from them.  
>Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<br>Rating: NC17

Summary: establishing shots are done. Now comes the who, where, when, what and who with...

The Road 3

The evening light was fading fast. A pink and orange glow bathed the surrounding Edwardian suburban landscape and lent it a warmth and softness, that in daylight, it did not possess.  
>Ricky leant back against the Manx and lit up. The smell of the cooling engine and his deep inhalation of smoke combined to make him almost light headed. The ride from Gateshead had been amazing. The road virtually empty, allowing him to gun the throttle practically all the way.<p>

The bike never disappointed.

It was the feeling he loved; who needed the drugs that were peddled these days? This was a natural high. Brain and body pumping together. He liked his own biological mix surging, lifting him, feeling the power of the machine. It was addictive. Opening the throttle, pining it on the bends just as much as was possible, without compromising the traction of course. He'd even managed to get his knee down a couple of times. It was what the bike was made for, what he lived for.

The adrenalin rush from the ride had slowed, he was easing down now. A ciggie and the quiet, reflecting on the sensation of touching the sky, touching God. This was when his thoughts turned lyrical. Poetry, that was what it was, forget trees and fucking daffodils. It was The Speed, The Road, and The Bliss, that was poetry. 

He looked up as a light snapped on in his aunt's kitchen. It was odd because he was sure she was away on one of her weekends. But she did as she liked, came and went as she pleased. He ignored it and relaxed, folding his arms, enjoying the silence.

Then a female voice broke it.  
>"Yea, yea, yea…she…yea…oh, yea…" It was loud, broken and sounded curiously foreign. And it was coming from the kitchen.<br>Annoyed, he drew heavily on the cigarette. Couldn't a man get five minutes bloody peace? He tossed the butt into the neighbour's garden and pulled the bike up the pavement onto the drive. He hefted the weighty machine over the gravel, lurching to a stop at the back door and kicking out the stand.  
>Through the kitchen window, he could see a young woman in an unbuttoned nurse's uniform. She was dancing, well, moving; utterly unaware she had an audience. The motions were rhythmic, flowing. Slightly surreal, almost erotic, just a body swaying, eyes closed. Her humming was the only music he could hear. In her hand, she held a small transistor radio, its earpiece in place.<br>Ricky smiled as he watched her, another of his aunt's lame ducks, no doubt. Mind, at least this one was easy on the eye. Her hair was as black as night and alarmingly short. She was small; round-hipped and had tits that strained against the fabric of her uniform.  
>Hmm, could be interesting.<br>He opened the door noisily, hopeful not to frighten her.  
>She jumped. "<em>Te jo isten<em>!" She pulled the earpiece out as she turned.  
>"No, I just live here, for God...you'll need to look elsewhere." Smiling as he looked closer. Nice. "And who might you be?" He took in the smell of strong coffee.<br>"You speak Hungarian?" Surprised by his sudden appearance, she almost stumbled.  
>"No, not really, just a useful phrase here and there." He had no intention of giving her more information than was necessary.<br>"Oh, you are_ Richard_?" Her answering smile was grave, but she came forward, her hand out to formally shake his."  
>"I am Piroska Janos; I…am from Sopron. I am staying here by…your aunt. She is so kind as to let me be…here." She smiled shyly. A lot of effort went into her little speech.<br>Ricky quirked a smile back, took her hand and kissed it. The accent was cute. She was cute. Her tits were _very cute_ "Call me Ricky, only Aunt Pip uses Richard."  
>"Ah…yes, my friends call me Piri." Blushing prettily, she retrieved her hand. "But my mother and…aunties?" She smiled questioningly,<br>Rick nodded encouragement.  
>"Always they say <em>Oskia<em>…er, what you would call..._a little name_?"  
>"I quite like Piri." Very interesting, he thought. Life was full of surprises.<p>

"Richard! I didn't expect you home till tomorrow? Ha, so you've met Piri?" Aunt Pip bustled in to the kitchen. "I need to speak to you dear, come out here for a moment." She led Ricky out into the garden. Drawing him away from the house.  
>"About Piri, please be very careful with her. She escaped you see, <em>terrible<em> time she's had getting here. All sorts of awful problems, her family dead in the uprising." Aunt Pip spoke conspiratorially; as if it were a great and dreadful secret. "Her father had been a writer, such a loss. She was sent into a state orphanage. A tragedy. All very sad. She was…well, you know, the soldiers, young girls…quite, quite_ tragic_." Phillipa Deeming shook her head at the injustice of it all and smiled sadly.  
>Ricky drew a deep breath. Yes, he knew all about soldiers and young girls…and boys. Yep, he knew. Not that he would explain that to his aunt. There were things about his past that she didn't need to know.<br>"But she's starting her training at St. Mungo's. Isn't that wonderful? A new start for her." Aunt Pip brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. "I want her to be happy, to settle. No entanglements, nothing that…could cause her to regret coming here."  
>"So no sex then?" He gave his aunt a wicked grin.<br>"You know what I mean, Richard, she's young, impressionable. I would rather you were not the cause of any unpleasantness for her!"  
>Oh, that was great, he was being warned off already. He smirked, but put a conciliatory arm about his aunt's shoulder. "I'll try me best, not promising mind. She could fall desperately in love with me. But I'll do me very upmost to discourage her. OK?"<br>"Just be nice, but distant dear, that will do. Now I think we should go and have some of that delicious coffee Piri has made."  
>It wouldn't be that hard, at the moment the Debby Davinia was taking up the baton of his sexual gratification. To Olympic standard, actually. He laughed to himself.<p>

Nah, not a problem.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: No money is being made.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: The unloading of the Debby Davinia...  
>Thank you Jen for being my Beta.<br>Oh and I do apologise for the north eastern accent, if anyone would like to put me right on it, I beg you, do, please.

The Road 4 

Parties were not Ricky's thing. OK he liked music; from Benny Goodman to the Stones, with maybe a bit of Stravinsky in the mix, great.  
>He did like a drink, a pint of Broon or really cold vodka tossed to the back of the throat on an empty stomach. Yea, he quite liked vodka.<br>Dancing, hmm… Jive, he liked Jive. It was wild, throwing your partner about like that. Wild, that's where the vodka came in. Then there was slow dancin', holding someone close, moving your body with theirs. Away man, that was pure sex, he definitely liked that  
>But standing about, while boring old farts tried to pick up girls young enough to be their daughters. And all this to a background of middle-of-the-road pop. Oh, and then there was the crappy food. No, parties were <em>not<em> his scene.  
>He cadged a ciggie from Big Bob and they lit up.<br>"Wor's the luscious Davinia then Ricky? We havna seen 'er since we got 'heya man." Bob threw another handful of cheese balls into his mouth.  
>"Hopefully, screwin' someone else. If I'm<em> really<em> lucky, she's gettin' ready ta chuck uz oot." It had been his plan, well, almost a plan. Davinia had become demanding, and Ricky did not like demanding. The whole party thing was her trying to fit him into the mould she had selected.

Some bastard had shown her the poems. Christ, you would have thought he'd turned into a fucking pop star. She had some daft idea he was the British Bob Dylan or something. Well fuck that! The book had been a mistake, a big mistake. When he returned from Malaya, he'd needed to get it out. The stuff just poured out of him. Then, after the murders, out surged more pain, hurt, need. It was all there. But Aunt Pip had given the work to a friend in publishing. For some reason, Ricky had let it go. There were things he regretted more, but not many. He shivered at the thought of it now. No, his writin' was private and that is how it would stay.

All except for that one little book.

Davinia had to go; she was boring him now anyway. Sexually aggressive women were fun, but ultimately he liked to be in charge. Surrendering control was a 'sometime' thing. As a rule, he liked to say who, how, where and when.  
>So he'd come to the party…and brought a few of his friends. Big Bob, he rode a '54 Harley, bought from a returning Yank serviceman. A beautiful machine, ruined by stupid handle bars. Then there was Mal. Mal was a 'merchant banker' of huge proportions, but a first class mechanic; he had a Norton but it was a '62 and not a patch on the Manx. Then a couple of the young Rockers who looked mean, but probably weren't. All bikers, all in their leathers, all eating crappy party food, drinking free booze and trying to get off with Davinia's posh mates.<br>Yep, that should get her good an' pissed off with him. If he could find a little chickie for a nice display, he'd be home and dry.  
>There was one woman who interested him; she arrived looking like she wanted to be somewhere else. She was small, and he liked small women. Well he liked them short. Him, being tall, he supposed, made him feel…protective. Davinia was tall, almost his height.<br>This one looked like a starter. Big eyes, lots of blonde hair, all curly and pinned up, but bits drifting down. She was wearing a green sparkly sequin thing. It was short, really short. He caught a glimpse of a stocking top and suspender when she moved. This was nice. Very nice. Funny but protectiveness was not the feeling she was engendering at that moment.  
>She turned and looked at him, and it scorched. The contempt he saw made him laugh.<br>Mel looked too. "Oh, man, but _that__'s_ a genuine piece o' niceness." He grinned and motioned with his hips what 'niceness' he wanted to do with her.  
>"I wouldn't bother man, that arse'll cost ya a fiver at least, and the tits, well, Mel, ma son jest don't urn enough!" Ricky clapped Mel across the shoulders and grinned.<br>"Ya ken 'er, Rick?" Mel looked crestfallen.  
>"Na, but I ken the type. Cock tease an' proud of it. Likes money, big cars, champagne an' all that stuff. Ya'd be a husk in a week, man."<br>The men laughed. Ricky leant back and watched her. She'd not turn him into a husk. He relit his roll-up, breathed in the strong smoke, enjoying the slight burning sensation. Even from here he could see the darkness in her eyes. Yep, she'd do.  
>Hari refused to turn around. <em>The shit, how dare he! <em>She heard what he said; he didn't even try to say it quietly.  
>She hated Eve's parties. The woman was quite convinced the eclectic mix worked. And where she found a bunch of random moron Rockers, well, God only knew.<p>

"Harriet, darling, how are you? Oh, I love the frock. Quant? Of course it is. Have you seen David yet? Well you wouldn't would you, he's next door. Are you staying at Uncle Arnie's?" Eve's questions rarely needed real answers.  
>"Yes, it's Quant. No, I haven't seen David. And, no, I'm not at Uncle Arnie's." Glancing about her, she found the tall, scarred biker unashamedly watching her.<br>"Bloody cheek, who does he think he is? Where _do_ you find them?"  
>"Oh, him." Eve raised her eyes for a sneak look. "He's Davinia latest squeeze, a Rocker poet, published a slim volume a couple of years ago. Hmm, tall, dark and dangerous. Very sexy, scars, leather…" She shivered dramatically. "And have you seen his…"<br>"Yes, I get the picture. Look, I have a massive head ache, I should never have come. Tell Davinia I'm sorry. I'll call her tomorrow." She needed to go; this had been such a bad idea.  
>"I rather think she had plans for tonight, but OK." Eve was losing interest. She smiled distractedly, kissed Hari's cheek and wandered off looking for a refill. Eve had never been one not to enjoy her own parties.<br>Hari watched as the bikers made a bee line for the free booze, following Eve, and nudging each other. She needed out of there. Tucking her bag under her arm and she headed for the door. Only to find it blocked. "Excuse me, please."  
>Ricky had watched the blonde pick up her handbag. He turned in the doorway, leaning across, filling it.<br>"Going home already pet, nothing to interest ya here?" He lounged against the frame.  
>"I'd like to leave!" She felt so tight, even her breathing was halting. "Oh, for God' sake, let me pass."<br>He didn't move, just looked down at her curiously.  
>She could have sworn he sniffed her. She swallowed the dull ache. In the depth of her gut, nerves flickered and told her to run. He smelt of cigarettes and leather, but oddly not alcohol. The signs were still bad though; her brain joined her body, telling her to get away.<br>He still didn't move, just glanced about the rest of the room. His cronies had made it to the drinks and were jostling the posh party goers.  
>Hari stepped forward to duck past him, but his arm was there first, barring her way. And there it was again, he ducked his head low and sniffed at her.<br>"Does it hurt ya yet?"  
>Hari froze. Christ, did it show? "What? What are you talking about?"<br>He leaned in even closer, not looking at her; almost conspiratorially, he whispered, "You're _soakin'_; I can smell it from here."  
>Shocked, Harri shot back. <em>"You're disgusting!"<em> She pushed past him. But he was right, she needed to…  
>He caught her arm and held her. "I can help. A little release, it's all ya need, it'll stop the ache for now."<br>"I have no idea what you're talking about. Let me go." She wrenched her arm away.  
>"Babe, yer are bloody mess. Have ya seen a doc or are ya just fuckin' and wankin' all the time?" Ricky had known a woman like this once. The blokes had said she was a nympho; the docs had drugged her up and packed her off to the funny farm.<br>"How dare you…" Her hand was in the air but he caught it before it made contact with his face. She looked horrified, scared… wanting.  
>Ricky pulled her outside. In the dark, his hands were on her.<br>" Oh, God...Yes…OK…yes." She gave in to it.  
>He was pulling her dress up.<br>"But not here." Hari said, desperate, embarrassed. This man was a no one. She would never have to see him again. An anonymous fuck. She could run home and take a sleeping pill, maybe a downer. She would have something in her arsenal of pills.  
>"Aye, <em>here<em>." He smiled as he saw Big Bob's Harley in the drive. "In fact…" He manoeuvred her across the gravel to where the big machine leant at a slight angle. _"_Here will do even better." He turned her and grinned to himself. The bike was visible from the windows.  
><em>"God, no, we can be seen!"<em>  
>He'd her pulled back on him. One hand cupped her sex under her panties, making small flexing movements; the other squeezed her small breast. He liked her helpless whimpers. "The whole point, pet." Pushing her over the large leather saddle, he freed his erection. OK, this was just a way of rubber stamping Davinia's dumping him, but it was a helluva enjoyable way.<br>He eased her feet apart; pushing the tiny dress further up and shoving the inconsequential piece of damp silk aside. His un-gentle fingers invaded her.  
>"For God's sake, just do it!" she groaned.<br>"Did I say speak? Did you hear me say you could speak?" There was no Geordie lad there now.  
>She froze and then pushed back into his groin with a husky moan.<br>"OK… it's like this…" He bent over till his mouth was at her ear. "You only do what I tell you. _You_ don't speak;_ you _just open your legs more." He was back in charge, shifting his cock to the wet slit, letting it drag there. "Oh, yes, that's it." There was a smirk in his voice, and she hated him for it.  
>And hung on to what she could.<br>He chuckled and considered her rose, but no he'd give her a break. Maybe another time. Gripping her hips punishingly tight, he fucked her. In the drive way, in front of the house, in the light that spilled from the large uncurtained windows.

From the house Davinia watched.  
><em>The bastard<em>, she seethed. Well, he could have her, the drugged up little nut job. With a bit of luck he'd catch something really nasty from her, and his cock would rot and fall off!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I make no money from this.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Ricky feels guilt and anger; he comes to Piri's aid, but not quite the white knight of old.  
>And again, thank you Jen xxx<p>

The Road 5 

The garden at night was a fine, secret place. Aunt Pip had little interest in horticulture, but she had a man come once a week to take care of it, keep the garden almost tidy. Just enough disorder for it to be interesting for the wildlife, but still a good place to be when you needed it.  
>Ricky liked the small walled corner opposite the kitchen door. It was shielded by the potting shed. From the garden bench there, you could observe the night garden and not be noticed. Foxes, noisily mating hedgehogs, owl's, bats, all wandered or swooped within sight of the bench.<p>

It was late, or early, depending on how you saw it. He sat contemplating his encounter with the blonde.

Harriet? Well, he thought that was her name. It had not been his finest hour. She hadn't deserved to be treated like that, even if she seemed to like it. But, hey, he wanted it, she wanted it, and it served a purpose. It should have been just a fuck. He stretched out his long legs and spread his arms along the back of the wooden bench as he caught the buzz again. A small groan escaped him and he shook his head guiltily.  
>No, it troubled him, not upsetting Davinia. She'd shouted, called him a worthless shit, and a few more choice epithets. But that he'd courted; no it was the blonde. She'd<em> let<em> him use her and then disappeared, like she wanted it that way. His male pride needed more. Even if he did feel a bit of a heel, only a_ bit_ mind.

It had been a _pretty good fuck_.  
>Voices disturbed his reverie, and he looked up. Piri came round the side of the house with a man. Ricky raised an eyebrow, he hadn't realised she had a boyfriend.<br>Actually, the little Piri was a tiny enigma. Coming and going, he saw almost no sign of her existence. Their first meeting was the longest Ricky had spent in her company. Occasionally he would notice a medical text book on a table or her gabardine raincoat hanging in the hall. But overall she may well have not been there.  
>And now here she was with her boyfriend, obviously going to have a kiss and a cuddle, and there he was, watching like they were part of the garden wildlife! The thought of coughing discreetly crossed his mind, but it was too late. He would still look like a peeping Tom. So he opted for silence.<br>Their voices were soft, she sounded serious, and he laughed, pulling her to him, kissing her.  
>Ricky moved to looked away, till he realised that she was pushing the man off her. Again she spoke quietly, but urgently. The man laughed again and pulled her protesting, back.<br>Now, Ricky was in an embarrassing position. It looked like Piri was unhappy with the attention she was getting, but if he intervened they would know he'd been watching.  
>"Nem, please, no…" At last her voice was loud enough for him to hear the words.<br>_Shit_. He had no choice now; he was up and across the lawn in a second.  
>"That is enough, fella!" He grabbed the other man and hauled him away. Piri stood, face white, stricken.<br>"What…" the boyfriend grunted.  
>"I'm guessing she's not interested. So be a good lad and <em>just piss off<em>." Ricky thought he was quite restrained. But the other man squared up to him.  
>"This is none of your business. Oskia, tell him…" The man knew her well enough to use her family name.<br>"I don't care whose business it is, the _lady said no_."  
>Too late Piri cried out. The boyfriend's fist caught Ricky in the gut, but he didn't expect Ricky's return punch so fast, it landed under his chin, knocking him back against the wall of the house.<br>A look of fury on his face, the man spat out, "Angol_ habzik_, fogod megbanni, _szuka_," as he staggered away, wiping blood from his face.  
>"No, pal, you're the<em> scum<em>, and I doubt the_ bitch_ will regret not seeing you again!" Ricky snarled. He turned back to Piri. Her dress was torn, and had fallen open across a virginal white cotton bra; he felt a stab of awareness at the full curve of exposed skin. It angered him. "Try not to lead them on and you'll be OK!" he snapped.  
>Piri just stood there, staring at him, her eyes huge and scared.<br>Ricky tore his gaze away and barked at her, "Cover yourself up, for Christ sake girl, what did you expect?" He tried not to see the pain and humiliation in her eyes.  
>He was not pleased with himself today, and her frightened face did not improve the guilt he felt. "Go to bed," he hissed, and she fled.<br>No, this had not been his finest hour.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the characters, not making money.  
>Rating:NC17<br>Summary: Hari is hiding but wanting Ricky to find her. Desperate for him to find her.  
>Thank you for being my Beta Jen.<p>

THE ROAD 6 

The heat made the air heavy, oppressive, shutting her in. Even in the middle of the field where she sat, it closed about her, thick and smelling of burnt rubber.  
>Why was that?<p>

Was it the trees?

Were they rubber trees?

No that was stupid, maybe it was…  
>The high-pitched scream of an engine came at her from a long way off. She could see the road; see the dark shape travelling at speed toward her.<p>

Was it_ him_? Had he tracked her? God she hoped he had. Whoever_ he_ was, he was right. _He _knew. But how did he know? Could he see in her head? Did he hear what others said? Is that how he knew?  
>Hari closed her eyes and lay back in the bittersweet smelling barley.<br>Too much, too much colour, too much sound, too much sensation. The air shivered about her, she could feel the waves in it created by the moving object on the road. It was him. He had felt her need again and now he was tracking her down.  
>The ache was fluid. Sometimes it was a gradual flow, sometimes a flood. The flow was delicious, teasing her mind, warming, filling her body. Everything billowed and glowed. The pills gave her the flow and she saw the glory then, she could paint then. But the flood always followed.<br>And the flood? Well, it pounded and tormented her. It brought the need, and she became unable to function, wanting…what, contact? Climax? Something. Sex, that was what she needed then. It relieved the pain.

Temporarily relieved it.

She tasted the air, and the need was there. She was teetering. If he found her now it would be perfect sex, it would lift her, fulfil her.

If he found her now.  
>If he found her later, she would make him hurt her. The flood did that, made her wild; she wanted brutal then.<p>

But perhaps he could cope with that. It had been the flood that night. But he had made her_ feel_, and she wanted to feel as much as she could before she lost it and crashed. Before her father gave up on her and had her committed, as he had her mother. What option would he have? She was out of control, going the same route as his wife. She'd be an embarrassment to the family, and God forbid that the illustrious Colbert family should be any more discomforted by_ her_ behaviour.  
>The sound of the engine washed over her. She wanted…she needed…<br>Where was he?  
>The sound was receding.<br>He'd passed her. He wasn't coming for her. She was alone. Alone with the need growing inside her. She touched herself. She had no choice. She had to come, she had to. It was_ his_ fault. He knew, but he wasn't here.  
>Tears of frustration built behind her eyelids as she stroked, trying to recreate the feeling of another's hand on her. She built the rhythm, imagining what his touch would feel like, how his fingers would move on her. His touch would be abrasive; she wanted coarse, needed rough. She cursed him, moaning profanities, swearing she would kill him.<br>Then, she came.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing again, not making money.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Ricky's hiding from temptation, but trips over a bit more...  
>Thank you for being my Beta Jen<p>

The Road 7 

Ricky stayed at Bob's place. There were fewer creature comforts, but he didn't have to deal with the big eyed Piri.  
>The day after the incident in the garden, she'd tried to explain about the boyfriend thing. Tried to have conversation about his knowledge of the Magyar language.<p>

Neither of which he wanted. He found his growing interest in her uncomfortable. Keeping the promise to his aunt was getting harder, so it was best to just avoid the temptation. He was safer sleeping on Big Bob's beaten up old couch. At least there, any sexual fantasies he might have would stay just that,_ fantasies._

Taking a lungful of the smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes, his overalls tied off at his waist, Ricky started his working day. He actually had no need to do paid work, even when, as the highly eloquent John Bacchus had put it, he was _knackering batteries for a fiver a day._ Richard Deeming was not a man in need of money. His mother had left him well provided for.  
>The Deeming family had always been well off; the large Edwardian house that Aunt Pip owned had been his mother's family home.<p>

No, Ricky liked to work; he liked to wield the hammer, fix bikes, and work on cars. Money meant little, even the royalties from his book, such as they were, went to one of Aunt Pip's charitable works.  
>Money paid for his Norton, let him have the freedom to indulge his love; work kept him in the real world.<br>"Anyone here like to help this lady?" Martin the garage manager swung into the workshop with a little blonde in tow.  
><em>The <em>little blonde.  
><em>Ricky's <em>little blonde.  
>She didn't look at him, why should she? Ricky stepped back into the corner. No point embarrassing her unnecessarily.<br>"The lady has a problem with her steering."  
>"Aye hinny, what cana do fa ya?" Arthur, the senior mechanic was near retirement and was the politest of the staff.<br>"Well, when I get to 40, everything wobbles in a most alarming way." Her voice was low, melodic, the accent southern. Ricky watched her move. She was calm today. The desperate, wanting girl of that night had been replaced by a confident little chickie. She was wearing rolled up jeans and an old fashioned collarless dress shirt, both were covered in paint. Hair in a thick, untidy plait; feet, in dusty sand shoes.  
>Ricky leant back, out of her line of sight and wiped his hands on an oily rag. He watched her.<p>

Yep, she was different.  
>Arthur sucked air over his teeth and shook his head. "Hmm, could be a couple of things lass…might take a while."<br>"Look I need the car, how long to…"  
>"Ya got wheel wobble, front end shimmy. Yor tracking's out. Take about 30 minute's tops to re-balance." Ricky growled and pushing forward, shaking his head.<br>"Hmm?" She turned… "Jesus, it's _you"_ She stared.  
>"Yep, 't is. Do ya want me ta do this?" He leant down to her, speaking slowly, as if she were stupid.<br>"Well, yes, of course I want it fixed, but not by you… Him, he can do it." She refused to look at Ricky.  
>"Yor choice pet." He smirked and turned away.<br>She clenched her jaw, teeth gritted. The bastard thought it was funny!  
>"She's all yorn Arthur, but watch, 'er she's a goer."<br>Hari was mortified; how dare he? But what could she say that wouldn't spark a scene? Nothing, she just had to ignore the bloody, greasy, oike. "How long will it take?"  
>"Like 'e says, 'boot 30 minutes. Come back in an hour pet, she'll be ready for ya." Arthur was not going to be hurried.<br>Tossing her keys on to the work bench, Hari turned on her heel and stalked away. Not looking at either man.  
>"Taking me break, pal." Ricky called over his shoulder as he followed her out.<br>Hari sat on the bench overlooking the war memorial in the park. She closed her eyes against the sun's glare.  
>Why here? Why now? She was trying<em> so<em> hard to beat this.

She felt the warmth of the sun go and she opened her eyes. There was no cloud covering the sun, it was the tall muscular frame of a man in rolled down overalls and a vest.  
>"OK, are you gonna tell me what you're up to?"<br>"I am not up to anything. I just want my car fixed." She shaded her eyes as he moved, letting the sun hit her face. "Do you really think I came here _deliberately?_ You think I want to be humiliated by you again? You may have Davinia all tied up in knots with your Stanley Kowalski impersonation, but frankly I find it…pathetic."  
>"Hmm, like the reference; Kowalski, not bad pet. But Brando's going bald. Not sure I like being compared ta him." He laughed.<br>Hari stood up, annoyed. He was supposed to be stupid, why was he not stupid? His accent was almost gone. She needed him to be an oike. "Whatever _happened_ between us was a mistake. Forget it. I was drunk, doped, having_ a nervous breakdown_." Walking away was the best thing to do. To try and talk with him was pointless. But as she turned she couldn't help but notice the curve of his bicep, he was far too close. There was a tattoo there,_ lusus naturea_. She shivered, _freak of nature_. She couldn't resist. "Are you?" Her voice was quiet as she ran her finger over the words. Her mouth dry.  
>"In more ways than you can know little girl." He pulled her round, against him. He grinned, ducked his head to hers and whispered, oh so close to her ear, "Care to find out just how much?"<br>Hari groaned. How had this happened? She could feel him against her belly. And there it was an honest to goodness hard on. It was a Friday morning, in the middle of the park, and she wanted him. Oh, and he definitely wanted her.  
>"Fuck you!" she pushed away from him. "You really do love yourself. Well newsflash, I…"<br>He jerked her closer, holding her wrists behind her back. "Oh, I don't know what your problem is chickie, but I'm pretty sure it would be interestin' ta find out."

She jerked away from him. "No!"  
>He heard a desperate plea in that one word. "No? No, what?" he growled, irritation beginning to simmer.<br>Hari dragged herself out of his reach."I'm not some…whatever it is you think." She ran then. He watched confused, maybe she was just the nut job that Davinia called her. Shame, now he had to think down his arousal. Fuck it, it was her loss. What was he going to do anyway, have her in the bushes?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the character of Ricky. I do however own Hari, Piri, big bad Bob, Aunt Pip, Ricky's mum, and so on...  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Hari has waited, she knows Ricky with oblige.  
>And thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<p>

The Road 8 

He'd seen her sitting on the low wall opposite the garage for about an hour. She had not stirred, merely sat there. Her car was ready, it had been ready for hours, but she'd not made any move to collect it.

She just sat, waiting.  
>Arthur nodded in her direction. "Yon little lass's still waitin' on ya man."<br>"Aye, like to keep one on tap, ya neva knaa when ah might hava need." Ricky grinned at the older man, who clapped him on the back, and chuckling, left.  
>Flicking off the lights in the main workshop one by one, Ricky made ready to go home. Then he felt her behind him, stopped, leaving the light above the workbench.<br>"Ya want ya keys?" He held them out, but didn't turn around, making her talk to his back.  
>"No."<br>"Then what _do_ ya want, little girl?" He knew.  
>"Don't make me beg, she whispered. Her voice was breathy, had lost the prissy edge.<br>"I don't know about that, I quite like the idea of ya begging me to screw ya." He dropped the keys on the bench.  
>"Bastard…don't," It was said on a breath. She needed so much, could he cure her?<br>She was right behind him; her fingertips grazed the hair at the back of his neck. She liked the way he didn't turn, just allowed his muscles to tense and relax at her touch. His skin was smooth, pale. He stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders. She wanted to kiss his throat, In the light of the single punishing fluorescent tube; she could see the barest pulse flicker there. The pads of her thumbs skimmed down between his shoulder blades. The vest he wore was grubby and damp with sweat, but still soft. When she reached the wad of overall tied at his waist, she stopped and expelled the breath she was holding in a long and painful sigh.  
>He turned then.<br>Taking her face in his large, coarse hands, took his entitlement, her mouth, as his.

He licked, sucked, bit.

She offered her throat and he took that too.  
>Lifting her arms above her head, she stretched; serotonin surged through her brain, her limbs felt heavy and she groaned, pressing her hips into him, arms slid about his neck. Her shirt was gaping, no bra hindered his hand. Then her swollen breasts fell victim to his mouth. The sting of his teeth on her tender flesh made her hiss and want more.<br>He was lifting her, pulling her up toward his erection. There was a metal vice digging in to her back. The smell of oil and rubber filled her nostrils.

Oil, rubber, and _him_.  
>"OK, Ricky, I'm gonna be in the office till…" The manager, Martin, was outside and clearly about to walk in. Ricky hauled her into the staff toilet, locking the door.<br>They stood looking at each other, breathless.  
>"Alright, I'll drop the keys in when I'm finished." Ricky never looked away from her as he spoke. His accent down to the barest trace now. The sound of retreating footsteps was like a signal.<br>"Get your clothes off." His voice was low, harsh. This wasn't quite where he'd have chosen…but…  
>He was hard against her, Hari had to wriggle awkwardly out of her jeans and knickers, she expected him to do likewise but he just leant back and freed his engorged cock. The night of the party she had not seen him, now she did, it was a revelation.<br>He chuckled at her surprise."The goddess was kind, what can I say."  
>Behind Hari, a sink set in a shelf. Behind him, the toilet. There was no space in the tiny room for two people to undress, he reasoned to himself. Pulling the light cord he flooded her brain with more harshness.<br>The flat, narrow surface of his lips fascinated her. She stood on tiptoes and ran her tongue there.  
>"And what do I do with you now?" he mused quietly.<br>"Make me come."  
>"The question was rhetorical. And what did I tell you about talkin'?" He paused, considering. "I like…hmm…I like noises." He brushed her nose softly with his, it seemed almost affectionate. "I like…you doing what I tell you." His tongue slipped effortlessly in between her lips, and he stroked the warmth he found there. Then he withdrew."I like…your mouth." Moving his head down, he was at her nipple. "That's what I like, now you know, so there'll be no problems will there? He bit down at the pliable flesh there. "You don't want me to have to correct you, do you?"<br>Shivering a groan, she shook her head. And wondered what the _correction_ might entail.  
>He lifted her onto the sink shelf, she squirmed. It was wet and the edges dug into her. She leant back, trying for comfort, but there was none. Only him.<br>He laughed. "Maybe we'll make it to a bed sometime." He was stroking her sex with his cock. "Nice, swollen, wet, _very nice." _Then with a grim, satisfied smile, he rammed himself into her.  
>She jarred against the taps and tried to brace herself on the walls. His rhythm not breaking as she attempted to stay steady. She pushed back, clenching as he pulled away. She looked down to where they joined, where he was buried in her. It looked grotesque but it thrilled her. When he pulled away, she hissed and whimpered, wanting him back. She flexed her hips and bit her lip as a wave of pleasure hit her.<br>"Move when I tell you," he grunted. He wasn't there for her to masturbate on; he would bestow on her what she needed. It was his to give, not hers to take. He withdrew and slammed back harder, irritated now.  
>Hari tried to hang on, but there was nothing to hang on to, and his pistoning was fierce.<br>Ricky pulled her up, her thighs high about his waist. "Hold on to me," he ordered, lifting her as she clung on about his neck. He swung her against the opposite wall.

Jesus, she was in a grubby toilet with a man she barely knew. Her father was right, she…  
>Then nothing mattered, not where, not who, and not how.<p>

The world shattered, her body shattered, her mind a blaze of light.  
>Ricky expected a cry, maybe a scream, the noise she made the night of the party; well, he could have sworn she was a screamer.<p>

But she smiled, a soft expelling of air from that beautiful mouth, followed by a slow angelic smile.  
>Hell, she <em>was <em>a nut job.  
>Then it was his turn to shatter, and he didn't care, just roared, and flooded her with his semen.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: No, I don't own it, and I'm not making any money from this.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: What has Hari been up to and who is Carteret?  
>Apologies: The accent is as good as I can get it, well, with only Ant and Dec for reference...what can you expect?<p>

And again, thank you for being my Beta Jen.

The Road 9

George Gently sat in his car outside the garage and watched Ricky Deeming as he tinkered with the monster that was the Norton Manx Racer. Gently let out a sigh. He hadn't wanted to involve the biker. But after Joe Webster tortured and almost killed him for nothing more than caring about Webster's son, Gently felt the lad deserved a break.

Unfortunately, his connection to the young and troubled Miss Colbert could not be ignored. Reluctantly got out of the car. John Bacchus was not along on this visit. That young man's personal hostility for what he believed was Deeming's life choices, and his obvious envy at Deeming's freedom, clouded his police officer's judgement.  
>"Mr. Deeming, nice to see you again."<br>Ricky stood abruptly at the sound of the London accented deep male voice.  
>"George! Good ta see ya, man. Settling down now, or are yor still hankerin' for the south?"<br>The Inspector smiled his quiet bemused smile and nodded. "No, actually I've rather taken a liking to the north eastern coast line. I find it has its attractions."  
>"Ya gotta luv the Northumbrian coast, man, all drama and cold winds."<br>"How's the…" He brushed his own cheek and nodded to Ricky's.  
>The large smear of still newly growing pink skin was slightly pitted. It no longer pained him, but when he became thoughtful, he had developed the habit of running his forefinger across its uneven surface. "Not so bad. But that's not why yor here, to enquire after my health, is it George?"<br>Inspector Gently sighed. "You're right, Ricky. Drugs, that's what I'm here about" He held up his hand, as Ricky started to say something. "I know, not your scene. But you seem to have a friend who's getting in a bit deep. Been seen with a known dealer."  
>Ricky looked quizzical and shrugged. "Don't know who you mean, officer." He bridled. "I'm no grass, so don't think just 'cos it's not my thing I'll…"<br>"Not even if they're selling to kids?"  
>"Kids here don't have that sort of money, in case ya haven't noticed this is a depressed area." Rickey wiped his hands on an oily rag and stepped away from the bike. "Folk I knaa get their kicks outta Broon or bikes."<br>"People like Harriet Colbert? "  
>"Who?" Ricky looked noncommittal.<br>"An artist, local girl, just back in the area from London. Dad's quite a noise locally. Pretty little blonde thing."  
>"Not sure I know who ya mean, officer." Ricky looked away and raised an eyebrow. "I know more than one pretty little blonde thing."<br>"Come on, Ricky, you've been seen with her. You gave her a lift on your bike the other night." George pulled his chin down and looked sternly at the younger man. "She's in trouble, Ricky. I know you're not the sort to ignore that."  
>"Blonde ya say?" He leant back onto the seat of the Manx. He stretched his neck and closed his eyes. What the fuck had the nut job done now?<br>"She's got a friend, Charlotte Dawson. Low-level dealer but still on our radar. She buys from her, Dexys, Bennys, that sort of thing."  
>"And?"<br>"And I want to know who supplies her."  
>"Ah, come on, officer, ya knaa who and where. Ya want <em>her<em> to grass someone up, and ya want _me_ to persuade her!" Ricky threw the cloth to the ground in disgust. Nut job she may be, but daft, she wasn't.  
>"She could end up going down with them, helping us would help her. Is she the sort of person who could survive prison?"<br>Hari, in prison? Jesus, she'd not last the trial. Ricky was at a loss.  
>Inspector Gently quirked a smile and put his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "Your decision Ricky. She should at least have the option though. You could help her get off the stuff. Is she worth it?"<br>Was she? Did he want this sort of complication?  
>Gently pushed a little further. "Also got a name that keeps coming up, wondered if you'd heard her mention it, in any connection, Arnold Carteret?"<br>Ricky tensed at the name. "Who?"  
>"He's ex-army type, Cambridge man, 'bout your age. One of the county set. Appears to be some sort of relation of Miss Colbert's. Nasty piece of work by all accounts."<br>"Well, officer, as I believe I mentioned, I'm no grass. And as the lady and I have not gone in much for conversation, you'll understand if I tell ya to go put yor ideas where the sun don't shine." Ricky turned abruptly and entered the garage workshop. Leftenant Arnie Carteret was not someone whose acquaintance he had ever planned to renew.  
>He left the police inspector rubbing the toe of his shoe in the gravel thoughtfully. Gently watched him go. Let the idea mull over in Ricky's head for a bit. He had a conscience and though his interest in the girl had surprised the inspector, it was possible the connection was strong enough to make him see the sense in it.<p>

Ricky was angry. This was another disaster in the making. He kicked out at a rack of tools, sending them flying.  
>"Careful Ricky lad," Arthur said knowingly. "Be canny, if the poliss cum callin', it's 'cos tha knaa summat. Summat that'll cost ye.<p>

An hour later, Eve Troughton was telling Ricky that Hari was in London.  
>"But I'm pretty sure I could accommodate you; Hari wouldn't mind." She smirked.<br>"Sorry, I gotta prior engagement." He was done with posh birds. From now on, he wanted simple, just plain and simple.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Ricky and I'm not making any money from this.  
>Rating:NC17<br>Summary: Ricky's experiences in the army and his connection to Carteret.

Thank you Jen for being my Beta.

The Road 10 

Leftenant Arnie Carteret was what used to be called, in intellectual circles, an aesthete. He considered his tastes, refined. Tall, slender, but muscular, proud of his looks. The smooth olive skin and large, deep brown eyes marked him down as not _quite_ English. But, as his family were mostly in trade, it didn't matter all that much. He was from money, and, as the saying goes, money has no smell.  
>At Winchester, Cambridge and then Sandhurst, he was not out of place. Though the family were not of the first water, they were influential enough for him not to worry much about where life would take him. Though a clever man, he was inclined to indolence. When he had been posted to Malaya with the Royal Engineers, he thought it was a game. He thought he'd see out The Emergency, eating exotic food and fucking good looking native boys.<br>Then he met Sapper Deeming, Radio Operator 1st Class, conscript and good looking plebeian. He could sense the rebel in him; see the shadow of something interesting there, a something he wanted to taste. Arnie wanted the tall rangy 20-year old. He wanted the steel blue eyes to hood over as he touched him.  
>But Ricky was disinterested; the good looking leftenant favoured him that was obvious. His fellow squaddies made jokes about it, but he had heard it all before and ignored it.<br>Then they were sent up country to survey for a new road. A routine job, nothing too serious. The area was safe, no insurgents reported.  
>The transport only got them to the foothills, the rest of the journey was to be made on foot, establishing a base camp and spending four days on the task altogether.<br>Piece of piss.  
>"OK, Sergeant, take three men and scout out the village, it's called…" Leftenant Carteret flicked through his paperwork absently. "Yep, here we are, Tua Kampung." Carteret continued. "Corporal, you take three men and work westward to the river. Make camp and report conditions. Deeming, set up the radio post here and co-ordinate info from both groups. I'll get the topography work required started." The leftenant began to unpack his dump level and clinometer as he spoke. "And I want both groups back here by 07.00 tomorrow."<br>Sergeant Stanford and Corporal Hope organised their men and went their separate ways. Ricky quietly and efficiently set up his equipment, climbing the nearby Gutta-percha tree to fix his aerial. He made test calls to the two groups to establish range and wavelengths. Ricky was pleased that _he_ didn't have to tramp and hack his way through the unforgiving Malay forest, hoping that the latest group of native nutters were not about to jump them in the dark. The young soldiers didn't care about the politics, the rights or wrongs of the situation. They just wanted to do their time and go home.  
>By the time it was dark; Ricky had brewed tea and broken out the C-rations.<br>"That's wonderful Sapper, you'll make someone a tasty little wife." The leftenant joked as he sat by the small cooking fire.  
>Carteret accepted the proffered mug of tea and leaned back, comfortable in his own skin.<br>Ricky was jumpy, unsure of how he felt about the _'Nancy_' officer.  
>"What are you going to do when your time's up, Sapper, got any plans? Little girly at home waiting, is there?"<br>Ricky ignored the last question; the bloke was obviously trying to suss him out. "Not sure sir. I might apply for university, or I got a mate with a garage, builds motorbikes. Might go in with him."  
>"University? Eh…what subject?" Carteret raised an eyebrow. He was right, there was more to this boy than met the eye.<br>"Have to be medieval literature; I'm a great admirer of Chaucer." Yea, he was a Chaucer admirer, but Blake and Shaw, ah they were more like it. Not that he felt he would tell this upper class officer about his admiration for the anarchist poet and socialist playwright.  
>"Chaucer or motorbikes, tough choice." Carteret smiled slowly.<br>"And you sir, what are you going to do?"  
>The leftenant shrugged. "Pretty much what I do now, fuck where I will and live off my inheritance." He lit up a cigarette and handed it to Ricky.<br>Working on the soldier's maxim that_ a free fag is a free fag,_ Ricky took a deep drag. He coughed and pulled a face, holding the offending cigarette away. "_Sweet Christ_, what is _that_?"  
>"Hashish, never tried it, Sapper?" Carteret took it back and inhaled carefully.<br>"No…no. That what they call Malay Magic then?"  
>"I believe that's what they are calling it." The leftenant closed his eyes and contemplated his next move. He wanted to kiss the long muscular throat. But this needed to be taken very carefully. He passed the cigarette back to Ricky, who accepted, and drew on it with more care this time.<br>It made his eyes water, but he held the smoke in his lungs the way he'd seen the leftenant doing it, then he expelled it slowly.  
>His limbs relaxed, unbidden. He leaned his head as far back as he could, enjoying the strain on the muscles. "That was fuckin' amazin'. Not like booze is it?"<br>"Not much, but you may want to eat like a loon in a bit." Carteret smiled. Sapper Deeming was delicious, and he wanted to eat him now. "Stanford said you learnt Malay? Do you want to join Mad Mike Calvert and his Scouts? I knew him at home, a rum 'un. I could drop a word, if you like?"  
>Ricky laughed out loud. "I learnt a few words so I could find out what I was eatin', not so I could join that bunch of fruitcakes! Oh, and by the way, tua kampung just means old villages, sir."<br>Carteret laughed again. "Oh, well, there you go. And there was me thinking you had a taste for adventure. Being a pedantic, and Chaucer notwithstanding, of course." Carteret took another drag.  
>"I'm as adventurous as the next bloke!" Ricky chuckled.<br>"How adventurous is that? They're a pretty dull lot here, from what I can see."  
>"Stop just looking at their dicks and you might find out different."<br>Now it was Carteret's turn to laugh._ "But I like dicks!"_  
>Ricky staggered to his feet. "I gotta take a piss." He turned to face the underbrush, leaning one arm on a low hanging branch above him. He freed himself and peed, groaning his relief.<br>He wasn't surprised by Carteret standing behind him; he had sort of expected it. His commanding officer was slightly taller, and he looked over Ricky's shoulder.  
>"Yep, I like dicks, and, my,<em> are we not a big boy<em>, Sapper." Carteret smiled. "Get much use from him since you've been here?"  
>"Enough," Ricky said gruffly.<br>Carteret leaned closer, his breath warm on Ricky's ear. "Want some more?" His voice was low as his hand slid down the Sappers belly.  
>Ricky let him. He was curious, he wasn't a virgin and all his adolescent life he had been accused of this, why not see if it was the real him?<br>The hand closed over his, moving his own slowly up and down, teasingly. Ricky swallowed hard and drew his own hand away, gripping the over-hanging branch with both hands now. A sigh of something, that could have been relief, escaped him.  
>Carteret's knowing palm moved with practiced ease, not pumping him yet, just trailing teasing caresses along the hard ridged fullness. The boy was beautiful, strong, confident and <em>ready<em>. This would be such a pleasure. He dragged his nail over the swollen head, Ricky hissed and winced, but let him. Carteret kissed the enticing neck below the ear, eliciting a deep groan in response.  
>And now he pumped, gripping the hardness just firmly enough not hurt <em>too<em> much. Ricky grunted and moved against him, flexing his hips forward and back. Carteret was relentless. His own erection, throbbing painfully, could wait. He knew he would be rewarded for his discomfort.  
>Ricky's spine spasmed, he moaned, as white fire curled up and surged down his belly and into his balls. His eyes snapped open, he cried out,<em> "Fuck, oh Jesus, fuck!"<em> and came, a flood of liquid crystalline heat shot from him.  
>Ricky Deeming flung his head back and laughed.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own these and I make no money from this.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Carteret and Hari, hmmm…  
>Thank you so much Jen for your invaluable help beta-ing me up, shame my punctuation and stuff just never seem to improve!<br>Please feel free to comment, anything you feel the need to say about what you read good, bad or whatever...

The Road 11

Hari hated London.  
>There were far too many unpleasant memories of her mother here, too much of her father as well<br>She'd done her duty visit, stayed clean and sober. Dressed like a Sloane Ranger and played the dutiful daughter. All she had to do now was see Arnie and she could go home again, get some work done.  
>The last few days she'd been fidgeting and prowling, she needed to get back to her studio. She itched to start the new canvas. Ideas were buzzing in her head, the machine, speed, and the body tense, tight.<br>She wanted to paint Ricky. He'd never let her, of course, but quite frankly, fuck him.  
>She could see him as the bike itself, moulded into it,<em> no,<em> actually part of it, leaking from the shining metal, like liquid flesh  
>All this she could see in her head. Now, she needed Uncle Arnie's little pills. He always had what she needed.<br>Not what she wanted, but what she needed, the colour and flow would not come without them.  
>And Uncle Arnie made her pay, in his own way.<br>He wasn't really her uncle, he was some sort of a cousin, but he'd been one of her mother's lovers just before she died, and she had insisted that he be called uncle. He was, in fact, only about 5 or 6 years older than she was. And, he was a bastard, greedy and self satisfied. His greed wasn't for money, that he had. No, it was for people; he ate you up with a possessive glee. Owned you, made you dance, jerking the strings that he knew, kept you functioning.  
>That was his drug, ownership.<br>The restaurant was Arnie's favourite, at the moment. It had a courtyard filled with hanging baskets of trailing plants, a discreetly obscene fountain and the food was divine. He was at his usual table in the most sunlit corner.  
>"Hari, angel! How are you, you look like shit." Arnold Carteret looked over his mirrored shades at the diminutive blonde and smiled. He so enjoyed his exchanges with Hari, she hated him, blamed him for her mother's suicide. It wasn't his fault; the stupid bitch would have done it eventually anyway. It just so happened he'd supplied her with the means. But Hari was different from her mother, she was stronger, a very talented artist, and she was<em> anybody's<em>.  
>Well, not quite anybody's, <em>not his<em>. He would however, remedy that at some point, when the time was right.  
>He'd watched her, her self-esteem issues were enormous. Probably to do with her mother, not that he cared. She was just so damn sexy. It was unconscious, nothing deliberate, studied or calculated. But the way she moved was sinuous and disturbing. Even now, when she was dressed like someone's nanny.<p>

"Uncle Arnie." She air kissed, and even that made her want to heave. "I don't suppose you have…  
>"Sweetie, you know that for you I always have exactly what you want." He reached into his pocket and drew out a bunch of small envelopes. "There, consider them a birthday present." He smirked and held out the buff coloured bundle in front of her, not giving it to her, but dangling it.<br>"It's not my birthday." She kept her voice light, smiling, not letting the revulsion and abasement she felt seep out.  
>"Pretend, for me." He sighed theatrically. "You are such a darling little thing, are you sure you won't let me fuck you? I could do all those little things that mummy liked so much?" Oh, how he liked saying that and watching her squirm.<br>"Quite sure." She snatched the little paper packages from his carefully manicured hand. "And I'll pay." She slid the small roll of notes across the table, at him. She may need him but _she would not owe him._  
>"You are a perverse little thing, aren't you?" He could wait.<br>An hour later she was on the train, she was going to paint Ricky as the machine, as speed.  
>Now she had the means.<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own this, just exploring possibilities!  
>Rating: NC17, contains descriptions of sculptural erotica and a rape. Slash. 'Nuf said.<br>Summary: Yep, it just got nastier! Thank you Jen so much.

The Road 12 

The temple at Candi Gunung Pohon was a revelation to Ricky, he'd heard about the Hindu temples and their erotic carvings, he'd even seen a couple at a distance, but this was nothing short of incredible.  
>They had climbed for what seemed hours, seen no one. Both men were shirtless, the heat had caused the thick clumsy cotton of their uniforms to become sweat damp, sticking to their skin and rubbing the flesh till it stung. Ricky had his shirt tied loosely about his hips, but the leftenant's was folded and hung neatly at his back, threaded through his Sam Brown.<br>Now as they reached their destination, a cooler swirl of air murmured against their uncovered torsos.  
>Only Carteret's promise of the life changing, astonishing views had convinced Ricky to come. He had been trying to avoid the leftenant. Interesting as their encounter while in the jungle was, Ricky had not intended things to going further. This did not seem to be Carteret's plan.<br>"Well what do you think now, pretty damn amazing really. All that Victorian architecture in Kuala Lumpur, and here they built the_ bloody Karma Sutra"_ He grinned and ran his fingers over the image of a woman being mounted by an elephant.  
>"Amazin' is the word!" Ricky found it arousing, who wouldn't? He couldn't help wondering what those early missionaries had thought when they'd first come across such things.<br>Carteret leaned back, amused at the young sapper's minute inspection of some of the more graphic, not to say impossible positions that the figures had been represented in.  
>"Whole section round the back devoted to Sapphic's then there's the homoerotic stuff. And of course there's a few horses and elephants thrown in." He looked up at the towering edifies curiously. "Someone told me there's a tiger doing two women up there somewhere, be a bit of a climb to find out though."<br>Ricky let his hand glide over a very sensual bottom, not sure, if it was male or female. He was hard himself; he guessed this was Carteret's intent. Well he wasn't that upset by the prospect. He had not disliked the experiences, though he had declined the offer of penetration, his or the leftenant's. _That_ he _was_ sure of. It seemed to him, a step too far.  
>Sex with another man was subtly different; it was all about angles and flat planes of muscled flesh, and power. Yes, with Carteret it was an unadulterated power thing. The man wanted to own, pure and simple. He had also found an aggression in himself, he wasn't sure he liked.<p>

Carteret had pressed Ricky into taking him in his mouth that night, Ricky had not objected much, he figured it would be like tasting a woman, which he enjoyed. But no, it was almost violent. He had tried to do what he liked a woman to do, to tease with lips, tongue and teeth, to caress him with firm sinew and soft flesh. Then there was no softness to Carteret, he liked hard, he wanted mastery over his partner. It was as if all he wanted was to fuck Ricky's face. And Ricky had fought him then, refused to let him come in his mouth, pushed him away. He wasn't disgusted at what they'd done, he was angry at being forced to do something that offered _him_ little or no pleasure, and quite some discomfort.

Magda had told him he held a darkness, but she liked his sudden mood changes, his dominance, she'd liked it a lot, all of it excited her. But what excited Carteret was to be in control and that Ricky wasn't interested just made the leftenant more_ interested_.

Carteret lit a cigarette. "Well, what do you make of it?"  
>Ricky frowned and stood back. "I think there is more to Hinduism than fuckin' anything that moves, and mebe I should look into it, like."<br>"Bit of an enigma aren't you Deeming? I'm having trouble working you out. You're not aroused by this?"  
>"I didn't say that, I just said there was more to it. I'm as hard as a bloody rock looking at this stuff." He laughed and stood back. "This place is pure magic, do ya not think? They build this amazin' crazy thing in a jungle, where only the monkeys and birds will see it! That's just, <em>amazin<em>'." He touched the warm sandstone reverently. The afternoon sun tinged everything it touched with pink and orange, light dappled through the high canopy of the rainforest. The heat, so overpowering in the lowlands at this time of day, was practically bearable, up in the high country.  
>The chattering of the Grey Leaf monkeys and the alarm screeches of the parakeets filled the air.<br>Carteret felt as if his nerves were raw. Every time Ricky moved, he seemed to be inviting the listless hands to touch him. An excitement of almost painful necessity, teased at the leftenant.  
>He leant close, shoulders just a fraction higher and definitely too near for his intention to be mistaken.<br>Ricky tilted his head back and looked skyward. "So, I take it ya wanna fuck." He said it with a finality that had Carteret shaking his head.  
>"Rick, don't say it like that, you know you want it, too." He ran the flat of his hand over Ricky's belly, feeling the muscles flex, and loving it.<br>"No, actually I don't. I'm OK with the other stuff, mind, but not that." He shook his head and pulled a face. "I don't fancy it."  
>Carteret was disbelieving, he laughed and tried to coax, his hand at the young soldier's fascinating erection. "You're just nervous, it's normal, it's you're…"<br>Ricky shoved his Carteret's hand away. "No, _a wank,_ OK. But I don't want to fuck you or for you to fuck me._ Understand_?" He was angry now.  
>But not as angry as Carteret. The bigger man caught Ricky's wrist and yanked it back hard, keeping a tight hold. "You don't tease boy.<em> You never tease.<em>" He hissed.  
>Ricky tried to pull free, and in seconds, it had gone from forceful insistence, to a fight.<br>They hit the ground grappling. In strength they were evenly matched, but Carteret was the more experienced. Ricky hit out wildly, defending himself, but wanting to hurt. Carteret required the boy subdued, still wanting the lithe body. Even more now he was on top of him and feeling the long muscular legs writhe under his crotch.  
>"Calm down, its better than you think. You're still a man, more of one…ah…" Ricky tried to punch the side of the leftenant's head, and succeeded only in catching his ear. "Careful boy. You don't want me to have to hurt you." Carteret bit out, as he forced Ricky's hands painfully above his head. "This can be a very pleasurable experience…or I can ram you till you bleed." He sounded very matter of fact. "The choice is yours." He leaned in and kissed the long smooth neck that tempted him so. Ricky shook his head away.<br>"Go fuck yourself,_ sir_," he spat.  
>"Oh, no, sapper, <em>you…I'm going to fuck you<em>." Carteret bent his head and licked at the tiny male nipples beneath him.  
>Ricky gasped. However unwilling he was in his head, his body was ready for the sex. Wanted it even. He was hard against Carteret's thigh.<br>"Oh, and you do want this, don't you." He kissed roughly up the pectoral to his armpit. Then licked. Then nipped, sucked.  
>Ricky had no idea that this would feel so crushingly good. He groaned, relaxed slightly.<br>"See…" Carteret smirked and moved his hand down, unfastened first his own, then Ricky's belt and shorts. "I knew you'd love this." He let go of the other mans wrists, as he turned his attention to the fulsome hard on in his hand. Ricky's generously swollen penis drew small groans of appreciation as Carteret stroked it. "Oh, you know something, boy? I think we are going to be the best of…"  
>Abruptly Ricky swung himself out from under Carteret. He now had the leftenant face to the ground, underneath him. Anger had turned to fury, blind fury.<br>Using his weight to hold the officer in place under him, Ricky ripped at the carefully pressed trousers, but he didn't touch the distended member there. Instead, he dragged the clothes brutally down to Carteret's thighs.  
><em>"Don't you dare, boy...I'll make you pay for this…you fucking little oike…!<em>" Carteret scrabbled beneath him, desperately trying to get enough purchase on the ground to force his body up and away.  
>But what Ricky did know was street fighting,<em> fighting dirty<em>. And his rage was now a black calm, almost business like. His elbow came down hard in Carteret's side, then again in his kidneys. The first blow winded him, the second made him shriek in agony. Not waiting for him to regain his breath, Ricky hauled him up into a kneeling position; ruthlessly he kneed the backs of Carteret's thighs, till he was bent fully over.  
>Ricky stared at the man beneath him with contempt. His beautiful mouth curling with disdain at the now submissive body of the man still grunting pointless, obscene abuse at him.<br>With purposeful care, Ricky spat on his hand moistening the dry skin of his cock. Then, with savage but deliberate anger, he forced himself into the undefended anus.  
>Carteret groaned and swore, he hurled more abuse, cried out in pain but Ricky went on relentlessly.<br>_"You…will…not come…near me…again, ever!"_ he snarled between hard punishing thrusts.  
>Then, much to his later disgust, Ricky lost the reason he was doing this. He just wanted to come; he just wanted that brief blinding white light, and the pleasure pain explosion.  
>And it happened. And he loved it. And the darkness loved it. And Ricky learnt something about himself he didn't know. Sexually, he was amoral. It would haunt him. His needs and what was right, would always be at odds, from that moment on, he knew this to be true,<br>he knew ,he was probably damned.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own this and make no money.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Ricky finds Carteret again, then while out on patrol...and yes I did knick the last bit from Strike back...it works well and Ricky, like Porter would have def. behaved in this way.  
>Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<p>

The Road 13 

_"Sapper Deeming_!" Ricky heard his name bellowed across the parade ground. He halted, threw his head back and groaned in complaint. "Bloody buggering shit, what _now?_"  
>"Collect your gear boy and then get yourself down to the west gate. <em>Now<em>, Sapper, move your useless Geordie arse. The bleedin' malcontents won't wait for you lad!" The sergeant's bark was a lot worse than his bite. In general, the man was good natured, a veteran of the Burma Campaign who like most there just wanted to see out his time and go home.  
>"Yes sarge, going now, sarge," he answered, turned and jogged back to the barracks to collect his pack and radio gear, the bolt action Lee-Enfield banging against his side as he ran.<br>Because of the Emergency status, all servicemen on duty carried weapons. When he had first arrived in Kuala Lumpur three months before, he had been uncomfortable carrying his rifle all the time. Now it was practically an extension of his arm, part of him. Not that it was for much longer. He had two weeks to go then he was on his way back to Blighty. A month after that and he was out, his time as a soldier of the Queen was over. He'd be back on Civi Street, and a whole new life beckoned...  
>Since the visit to the temple and his fierce retaliation to the leftenant's unwanted advances, Ricky hadn't been surprised to get every shitty task that Army life offered. Every stinking latrine emptying, kitchen refuse dumping, stone painting duty fell to Sapper Deeming. The positive side of this was that his fellow squaddies assumed that he'd turned down the Nancy officer, hence the punishment. He just smiled and went along with it.<br>It was strange. Suddenly he was one of them, his time was ending and now he stopped being the loner. When he got a leave pass, he went with them to the bars and brothels, got his tattoo_ and_ the Clap. He also acquired a reputation on these trips. In a fight, Ricky was your man, he had your back. But _never_ play him at poker, he had an unreadable face. He smiled, scowled, looked blank, curious, frightened, but rarely did it reflect what was happening in his brain, just the smirk when he won. His new mates soon understood, always have Deeming on your side.  
>Then came the night he crossed Carteret for the second time.<p>

"Yea little chickie, ya can luv me for as long as ya want…" Ricky swung the pretty young Chinese bar girl about to the music. He wasn't sure if it was still technically dancing, as she was hooking her leg around his waist and gluing her mouth to his, so he thought it was probably foreplay. He levered her away, pulling a slightly comical, reproving face. "But _not_ on the dance floor."  
>"You a nice big boy, you feel nice and big." She squirmed against him, grinding herself on his thigh, obviously intent on her work.<br>"Private, let's go somewhere that's_ private._" He nuzzled her throat and gripped her waist. She slid sinuously down him and tugged at his belt, pulling him away from the sweaty bodies jiving around them, out of the bar and up a flight of stairs. Ricky tried to remember if he had any money to pay the girl.  
>On the landing, they stopped and she launched herself on him again, rubbing her small palm up and down the crotch of his trousers, admiringly. "You real nice big boy, Ricky baby."<br>"Oh, yea, I'm very big boy, an' I'm gonna fuck the pretty little arse off ya, pet." He laughed, shoving open a door.  
>And was confronted by the sight of leftenant Arnold Carteret buggering a boy who looked no older that twelve, the child was crying.<br>_"Oh, for fuck's sake…shut the bloody door!"_ Then Carteret saw who it was. The look on the officer's face was almost amused. "Well Rick…you and…your little…friend care…to join us?" he called between vicious thrusts.  
><em>"You bastard<em>." was all Ricky said as he slammed the door and fell back against the wall. His mind reeled wildly. He stared at the young girl trying to unfasten his trousers.  
><em>How old was she<em>?  
>He grabbed her hands and held them at her sides.<em> "Go home, go back to ya mam and dad, where ya belong<em>." Disgust and anger at his so-called superior officer, and himself, cut him deep. Pushing her away from him, and heading back down the rickety stairs, he didn't stop till the stitch in his side wouldn't let him run any more.

"OK, there are reports of MNLA terrorists in the river basin, so we're off to help mop 'em up. Captain Mason is red leader, and Leftenant Jason, blue. I'm green. Red will be taking the trail to the east. Blue, the southern trail. We will be west and coming round to the river." Carteret paused, consulted his watch and continued, sounding slightly bored. "Sergeant, keep the men in tight formation." He noted sapper Deeming's presence, but did not acknowledge him.  
>"All right ladies, no one goes off the path, ya wanna take a piss, ya wait till we all break. And keep those beady little mincers peeled. <em>Understood?<em>" It wasn't really a question, but everyone grunted a 'yes, sarge' back.

Four hours later, they were deep on a rainforest trail. The rainy season was due to start any day and the air was heavy, damp, moisture dripping from the broad leaves above them.  
>It was like breathing in steam, Ricky thought. He tried not to let Carteret bother him, but jeez, it was <em>bloody hard<em>. There was nothing he could do, who would believe a plebe like him? Officers stuck together, he'd be the one chucked out with a dishonourable discharge. Fucking Carteret would get off Scot-free like nothing had happened. What's more, he'd have his revenge on Ricky.

Carteret couldn't lose.

Corporal Hope bent low, raising his hand to stop the small line of men, he hissed. "_Movement three o'clock_." And pointed to one side. All froze and followed the motion.  
>A small figure darted across their path, firing wildly. Everyone threw themselves to the ground. Seconds ticked by, grunts and groans issued from a couple of the men.<br>_"Sound off. Anyone hurt?"_ Sergeant Stanford called. Every man called his name softly, adding OK, to show they were not injured.  
>"Deeming, get on the blower, let red leader know we met resistance," Carteret yelled.<br>Suddenly a series of cracking pinging sounds and bullets started to hurtle their way again. Ricky rolled off the path and into the trees, pulling the radio from his back as he went. He'd just set the hefty pack upright when he felt eyes on him, glancing up, expecting to see one of the patrol, he found himself looking down the narrow barrel of a mark two Sten gun. It was nestled in the small hands of a young Malay boy, no more than twelve.  
>The same boy he had seen in Carteret's room.<br>Ricky sat back on his heels. The kid looked petrified, but he was a petrified kid with a machine gun, and it was pointing at him. Ricky swallowed hard; there was no way he was shooting this kid, no way at all. He held up his hands, letting his weapon slide to the ground. "'T's OK son, just step back and run, _shit_...Melangkah mundur...dan menjalankan." He spoke the Malay words slowly, praying he'd gotten them right; his lessons had been fairly rudimentary. But the boy just looked at him.  
><em>"Get the fuck out of the way, Deeming!<em>" Carteret's voice rang out over the sound of intermittent firing, the screech of terrified monkeys and squawking of the birds.  
>"He's just a kid, it's OK." Ricky shouted back. He started to stand, the boy looked doubtful. "It's OK, honest, put the gun down and run, it'll be OK. We're not here to hurt you, just build roads." He saw the boy start to relax, dip his head and a smile began to form as he let go of the gun.<br>The sudden thwack in the air in front of him dazed Ricky, he felt a burning in his shoulder, his knees buckled just at the same time as the boy was thrown backwards by the force of the of the bullets that hit him.

When he woke in the hospital, Ricky learned he was on his way home. The report said that Sapper Deeming had tackled a terrorist single handed, but was wounded; his commanding officer, Leftenant Carteret killed the said terrorist, thus saving the sapper's life. Ricky got to take home a medal for bravery, second class, and a hatred of Arnold Carteret that burned him


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Ricky, I doubt anyone could.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Ricky gives Piri a ride home and considers possibilities.  
>Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.<p>

The Road14

St Mungo's, or St Munnies as the locals called it, started life as workhouse. The austere, worthy civic building that it had become never disguised what it had been. The Victorian solidity and functionality was coupled with the unforgiving intention not to encourage slacking with too much luxury for the sick poor of the town.  
>Throughout the building there were cartouche set in the stonework, they all carried uplifting quotes and instructions:<br>Man, mind thy self.  
>Take up thy bed and walk.<br>Physician, heal thy self.  
>Etcetera, etcetera.<br>Piri liked the heavy brick and stone building; she liked to see the nun's in their old-fashioned black habit and stark white wimples as they fluttered along the corridors, demurely close to the walls. Maybe it was her illicit Catholic background. Maybe her mother's not quite secret desire, for her to take the veil, had seeped into her consciousness. At home there had been little possibility. Here, she found she could indulge her love of the formal strictness. She went to mass regularly, prayed and carried her rosary everywhere. At home, before she escaped, they had held mass in the homes of friends; the priest came and went silently. Here she could revel in her faith and its proscriptions.

The only fly in her spiritual ointment was Ricky Deeming.  
>He unnerved her, made her feel things she did not want to feel. Her pulse quickened even at the very mention of his name. She hid when she knew he was around. The feeling of heat that he generated in her body scared her. He had the look and manner of a fallen angel.<br>Perhaps fallen at her feet to tempt her? Test her resolve?

Whatever it was, when he stopped his bike at the bus stop that wet dreary afternoon, her heart sang and her breath almost choked her.  
>"Get on," he said, pushing his spare helmet at her.<br>She did as she was told. Declining would have been out of the question, but as she squirmed uncomfortably on the hard narrow seat, every fibre of her burned. The skirt of her uniform and petticoat were tucked dangerously far up her thighs, allowing glimpses of her stocking tops and suspenders as she moved.  
>She was relieved that, as he was obviously watching the road ahead, Ricky would not see her so revealed.<br>She underestimated Ricky.  
>He glanced back to check she was on and was rewarded with the sight of pale, smooth thigh, a white suspender and black stocking top. He grinned to himself and gunned the machine.<br>You had to love a nurse's uniform, all that starch with the promise of softness underneath.  
>"Hold about me waist, tight mind. I don't want to have to explain to me auntie how you fell off."<br>She followed his instruction and held tight, then immediately loosened her grip when she realised quite how good it felt.  
>"I said tight, pet, and I meant it."<br>She tried again. This time, she hung on as they moved out into traffic. When they stopped and started in the city centre, she found she could sit back from him, but once out on the open road it was a different story. She had to cling as he took corners, gripping the bike with her knees to stay in place. The rain stung her exposed and delicate skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks. But worst of all, was the contact with him and the bike. Just the thought of him made her blood race, now the vibration of the bike set up a tension between her thighs that had her breathless with need.  
>With her arms clasped at his waist, Ricky felt it, too. He, like all bikers, knew there was a set of revs that, if she was in the right position, could turn a reluctant chickie into a more than willing one. It was the standing joke about <em>taking a girl for a ride.<em>  
>He leant forward as he had to, the Manx was a racer, the handlebars were positioned low. This pushed his rear into the vee of her groin. He felt her squirm closer. Possibilities slid through his mind.<br>She was less complicated than Hari. No likelihood of Gently asking him to persuade her to testify against any one. One thing he was certain of was that he did not need another Billy in his life, and Hari had that potential. He only had auntie Pip's censure to deal with. If he was careful about it, it wouldn't be so difficult.  
>By the time they pulled to a halt outside the gates of the driveway, Piri was biting her lip and trying to hold her quivering core together. Uncomfortably, she slid from the bike and stood on the kerb, dazed from the ride. Her legs still trembling.<br>"The lid?" Ricky laughed and swung his long leg over the machine. He leant forward and pointed to her head. "The helmet?" He removed his own, putting it on the saddle.  
><em>"O, termeszetesen<em>, yes," With nervous fingers refusing to do her bidding, Piri fumbled with the buckle. She closed her eyes and wished she did not feel so… She always faltered in her English, dropped things, when he was near.  
>Long confident fingers slipped over hers and the strap fell free.<br>"There you are now, home, safe." He lifted the helmet clear with one hand, the other dusted through her short tousled hair.  
>Piri's mouth twitched in a faltering reply. "<em>Koszonom<em>…I...meaning…thank you"  
><em>"Nincs problema<em>. It's OK, hinny. What you need is a nice hot bath." The free hand touched the damp hem of her uniform, pressed it against the tingling flesh of her thigh.  
>He thought about her in the big old fashioned bath.<br>Thought of the hot water heating the skin of her full breasts to a deep pink.  
>Thought of the soap sliding there.<br>Thought of his hand wielding that soap.  
>His body reacted accordingly. He winced, shaking his head, trying to free some good sense. The look he saw in her large, dark, soulful eyes told him that here there was something he had never had to deal with before. Inexperience, innocence.<br>"Go on inside. I think I need to go…"  
>He was unprepared for Piri's upward move. She came up on tiptoes and kissed him. Softly and closed mouthed. He responded by gripping the back of her head and holding her while his tongue sought the warm surprised shelter of her mouth.<br>The rain continued to fall, but it was un-noticed.  
>Ricky sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I only own Hari, Piri, Arnie, Auntie Pip and a few we haven't met yet.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: John Bacchus is disabused of his opinion of Ricky. Piri gets her wish.

Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.

The Road Part 15 

John Bacchus watched Ricky Deeming for most of the evening. He hadn't meant to, he _meant_ only to confront him, and to remind him about the conversation with Chief Inspector Gently. They needed everything they could get on the elusive Arnold Carteret. And at the moment, the freaky little painter, Harriet Colbert, appeared to be their only lead.  
>He didn't like dealing with Deeming, the man made him uncomfortable.<br>John wanted to dislike him, wanted him to be a pervert who preyed on the innocent. But watching him with the girl angered him, why could it not be simple?

At school, he'd alternated between hero worship and resentment. Richard Deeming at Anderson Street Grammar was a star. He excelled at everything in a seemingly effortless way, at sports and academically. He was popular with pupils and teachers alike.  
>Nevertheless, Ricky was different. He didn't seem to care about what he was good at. He was always looking for the next thing, the next challenge.<br>That irritated John; he was never going to shine unless he worked at it. No one would notice him, unless he put himself in their path.  
>He resented Deeming's talents, the fact that he took them for granted. Moreover, of course, he couldn't forget that the Deemings were money. Arty middle class liberals, who looked down on mere mortals like John, while claiming understanding and empathy for the plight of the average Joe.<br>When the scandal with the English teacher, blew up, John was secretly pleased.  
>Flamboyant, that's what the headmaster had called Ricky then, just flamboyant. No question of anything suspect in the boy's behaviour. Mr. Jacques had moved on to pastures new, only the whisper of a stain on his character. But Ricky was marked, for life if he wasn't careful.<br>Of course looking at it now, from a police officer's point of view, there was no evidence of anything, it was all gossip and rumour. Changing room teasing. Deeming spent too much time with the young teacher, with the same interests, discussing books and poetry, and dirty minds did the rest.  
>Then Joe Webster scarred him with the blowtorch. And all for the same suspicions.<br>As he watched Ricky dancing close with the sexy little dark-haired girl, he knew there was no way the man was a queer.  
>Gently had said Deeming was involved with a woman, but it looked like he was involved with more than one.<br>_Not_ a Queer then  
>John felt almost robbed.<p>

Ricky swayed rhythmically against Piri, his hips in contact with her belly. It felt good. She was pretty, soft and, he was certain, a virgin, judging by her hesitation as she moved with him. While it was obvious that she wanted him, he felt responsible in a way he'd only felt once before, and it was not a feeling he liked. Deflowering was not his scene, not something he was at ease with.  
>Jeez, this was going to be tricky.<br>Her perfume was delicate, and her full curves incited his hands to investigate. The thought of running fingertips over the naked swell of her belly, aroused him. He knew he should back off, but she clung to him, pushing her softness awkwardly into his groin. The slow, sensuous music stopped, other couples left the floor, but Ricky and Piri stayed, holding each other. She was looking up at him with big, dark, soulful eyes, her lips parted in a soft, invitingly open, moue.  
>The kiss was meant to be light, flirty. But her mouth was open and seemed to beg his tongue to play there. He couldn't help himself, he accepted the invitation, it was warm and safe.<br>"I…I am so sorry, I did not mean for this…" Piri drew back from him, looking self-consciously about the dancehall.  
>"'t's OK pet. It was nice, real nice." He grinned and nuzzled her neck.<br>"But in front of all these people, it was stupid. _Indecent_." She groaned.  
>"We could go outside, but I don't think…"<br>"No, no, it's …no." She shivered at the thought. What she wanted had to happen with some semblance of dignity. "We could…we go home now?"  
>He groaned, thinking of all the reasons why he should not do this. "Aunt Pip, she's…"<br>"No, she not at home. It is what she calls her 'weekend away'. We would be…alone." She looked shyly down, not meeting his eyes, not wanting him to see what was in her's. Pulse was racing, throat constricting. How she was talking to him like this, she had no idea. It was so alien to her. But it must be done, if she was to turn from the path her mother had intended, she needed to lose this innocence that held her back. To lose it to Ricky would be right…Perhaps she could also save him.  
>There were those soulful eyes again, Ricky folded. Who was he to stand in the way of a pretty girl who wanted his body?<p>

"A'reet there Ricky?" John Bacchus swung into their path, as they turned to leave.  
>"John Bacchus! As I live and fuckin' breathe," Ricky looked heavenward, and gritted his teeth. "Yuh have a nasty habit of turning up when yuhr least wanted."<br>John noticed the low level of Geordie accent and ticked it off his list of things about Deeming he disliked. The guy was a fake. "Justa wee word in yuhr ear like man." He broadened his own inflection out of annoyance. Casting a glanced at Piri, he turned away, dismissing her. "In private." He nodded to the door.  
>"Wot now? I don't know any more than I told George."<br>"A canny reminder, lad. We need names from wor little hinny." He nodded toward Piri, and raised his eyebrows, questioningly. _"Private_?"  
>Ricky nodded in resignation, motioning to Piri to stay where she was.<br>Outside he rounded on the policeman. "Yuh can just fuck off John. I told George, Hari is off limits."  
>"Nee ta uz, but if that's the way yuh wanna play it, I'm OK wi' it." He hated the fact Deeming called his boss George, it rankled that the senior policeman allowed it. "We'll jus' haul hur in, have word in hur shell like? Nee problem ta iz like. Good lookin' lass from what I've seen. Make a nice change." He smirked, rubbing his hands. The gesture was over the top, pantomime evil. John loved it when he got under Ricky's veneer of cool.<br>Ricky came forward, squaring up to him. "She's not up ta that stuff." He stepped back looking at Bacchus with disgust. "She's fragile like. She'll not be up to yuh and yuhr…" Ricky tensed in sudden anger and swung away, slamming his fist into a nearby wall. She did this to herself, he hadn't caused this. He owed her nothing. But…"OK, OK. I'll talk to hur, but unless she needs help, yuh stay away, understand?" He nursed his grazed knuckles, clenching his jaw and thinking of reasons why he should walk away from it all.  
>He wouldn't, but knowing it didn't help.<p>

As she slid off the back of the bike, Piri knew something was wrong. Ricky's mood had changed. He'd gone from soft and almost reluctant, to urgent, demanding. Was it her, or his talk with the strange man at the dance?  
>He'd kissed her, roughly, not taking his time, waiting till she was ready. Just taking.<br>"Let's get inside; it's getting cold out here." He hurried her up the path and into the warmth of the kitchen.  
>He seemed about to have her there, pulling at her clothes.<br>Piri grew alarmed and darted back from him. "No, I don't want this, you are angry with me? I'm sorry I do not know what I should do, but I will not…"  
>Ricky threw his head back and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry; it's a bit…<em>complicated<em>. It's not…I just need…" He could hardly say _I need to fuck someone_. But it was the way he felt  
>"I will go." She hung her coat, and made for the stairs, she wouldn't let him see her tears.<br>Ricky sat and stared into the small fire burning in the old-fashioned range. He'd cocked up, again. He'd seen her crying, and he felt like a heel. Which was dumb.  
>Fucking a virgin, that was dumb.<br>Not fucking her was sensible.  
>So why did he feel so bad now?<br>Climbing the stairs, he braced himself. He'd go and explain himself . Tell her why he shouldn't do this, why she needed a nice boyfriend, who'd care for her, marry her, give her nice fat babies, 'cos he couldn't be that man.  
>"Piri, are ya sleepin'?" Also dumb, he had heard her crying softly as he stood outside the door.<br>She moved in the bed as he knelt beside her.  
>"I can't do this sweetheart, I can't," he said gently.<br>Reaching out her hand, taking his, she brought it to her lips, kissed it.  
>He felt the dampness on her cheeks.<br>"That is why it must be you." She drew his hand down, under the covers, and he felt the naked warmth of her breast.  
>"Christ girl, I don't…" he groaned.<br>"Yes, it must be you." It was a plea.  
>He opened his palm, and ran it over the swollen nipple. This was not fair. He was trying to be noble, do the right thing. But…<br>"Awh fuck it!" he pulled back, clumsily hauled off his clothes, and slid in beside her. His big body, ridicules in the small bed. Not that he cared, she was soft, warm and giving, and he was hard, and wanting, a perfect match.  
>"I won't hurt ya... I'll be very careful." He groaned between nipping and sucking at her superb, full, tawny tipped breasts. She stretched and allowed him to touch, caress, kiss all he wanted, and he <em>wanted.<em> The smooth tender warmth she made him feel, was so different from Hari.  
>This was safe, cushioning. This was succour; she offered refuge, not challenge.<br>With great and grateful care he stroked her, used delicate movements of his fingers and mouth to massage every spot he knew would arouse her further. Cupping her hesitant palm under his, he used her hand to help slide the rubber Johnnie over his erect cock. She held him then, stroked him gently. Amazed at the feel of him.  
>She had tried to wriggle away when he kissed the swollen rise of her sex, groaning that it wasn't right. But he went on, till she begged him for more.<br>"Please, please Ricky. You must be in me, I need you to fill me…free me." She was breathless, twisting and surging against him.  
>He lifted his head, licking his lips, tasting her again. "Not yet." He smiled to himself and nuzzled at her wetness, sliding his tongue over the salty sweetness, flicking around the small rubber-hard nub.<br>She cried out, her nails raked deeply against his shoulders.  
>Shock, intense delight, happiness and fear, followed an unrecognised bolt of feral pleasure. Her mind could hardly deal with what he had done to her, given her.<br>Yet still, she was a virgin.  
>Ricky pulled himself up, pleased. He liked the taste of a woman, liked the feel of the silky folds under his tongue. But best of all he liked to hear them at their peak, hear them surrender and become the female animals they really were. He rose up and slid to her mouth, sucking hard on her tongue and plunging into to her at the same time.<br>She was so ready that she hardly noticed the slight jarring pain as he tore her hymen. Only his body pushing urgently into hers registered, till the tiny nub grew tense again against the fiction of his movement. Then she rose up to meet his surges, and the dance became a fury of sensual greed. Moans turned into gasps, which lapsed into groans and small cries, all incoherent, but strangely plain in their meaning.  
>"Yes, what I needed… you, I needed you." Piri gasped as she came again, her mouth at his shoulder, kissing, sucking, biting at the smooth flesh around his tattoo.<br>Ricky heard her, the line of his narrow lips curling into an erotic snarl, and quickened his pounding pace.  
>"Good…so good…ah…Christ almighty…YES!" He reared up and called out, almost laughing through his climax, her tightness holding him as he came.<p>

Later, in her narrow bed, as he taught Piri how to fellate him, Ricky lost thoughts about saving Hari from herself and John Bacchus, from even from thoughts of Arnie Carteret.  
>He lost himself in initiating Piri into the world of sex.<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I make no money from this.

Rating: NC17  
>Summary: The drug trail is being uncovered; meanwhile a new character is on the horizon.<br>Thank you so much Jen.

The Road 16 

"And how much of this stuff comes from London?" Chief Inspector Gently tossed the small buff coloured packet back into the cardboard box on the desk, with a look of undisguised disgust.  
>"None, this lot came off a boat we impounded at Grimsby." Her Majesties Customs and Excise Officer Barker pushed the box closed. "The code stamped on the pills tells us the place of manufacture. In this case, it's East Germany. The LSD can be made anywhere there's a half way decent lab, by almost any second year chemistry student," Barker huffed indignantly. "Half the soddin' universities in Britain are producing the stuff. On my bloody taxes!"<br>Gently chuckled quietly and dug his hands deep in his pockets. "So we can trace the boat the Dexedrine came in on?"  
>"At the moment, no. The company that owns it is a dummy, the boat was registered under a flag of convenience and the end user certificates are false. The only lead we have is the crew, and they're all Chinese pretending they don't speak English." Barker sighed heavily. "All we really have is the name Arnold Carteret. It's a rumour, based on hearsay, based on…not much, 'e was connected to a nasty brothel racket a couple of years ago. Youngsters coming in from the Far East. Managed to worm 'is way out of that, 'cos of 'is connections and money, but this is much bigger. Special Branch is very interested in 'im, but they're not sharing, as usual." Barker sighed. "We<em> need<em> Carteret. He's the King Pin."

"I feel Mr. Carteret slipping away from us." The Chief Inspector closed his eyes and tightened his mouth. "Have you spoken to our friend Mr. Deeming?"  
>John smiled. "Saw 'im last night, sir, reminded 'im about Miss Colbert. He was less than happy." Bacchus lowered his voice. "He was with another young woman." He didn't look at his superior officer.<br>But Gently laughed. "Busy lad, that. What did he say?"  
>"He…er, he's gonna have a word with her."<br>"And we'll get Carteret, but we'll do it right. Get him good and proper. Keep him." Chief Inspector Gently looked pointedly at Detective Sergeant Bacchus. "No tricks, just good police work."  
>George Gently had been pondering on Richard Deeming. An old friend from his army days had contacted him; Guy Delacy was ex Military Police, now Special Branch. His interest in Ricky puzzled Gently. The call had been odd.<br>"Richard Deeming? Well I've found him intelligent, thoughtful, if a bit fanciful. Good army record, decorated, honourable discharge. Not what you'd expect, but a good sort I'd say. Why the question? Is he mixed up in anything I should know about?"  
>"No, nothing like that old boy. I knew his mother, a long time ago. Just wondered how he turned out. You know how it is, you just loose touch…"<br>But George knew also that Colonel Guy Delacy _never _just lost touch. George did not trust coincidences. In his experience, they never actually happened. The connections were always there, you just had to find them. There was more here, of that he was sure, but more what?


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I make no money.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Moving swiftly on, Hari comes to Ricky.

The Road 17

Ricky jerked in pain as the small, elegantly booted foot, jabbed sharply at his thigh.  
>"Davinia said you were looking for me, why?"<br>Ricky slid out from under the large cumbersome 1963 Singer Vogue. "Fucking stupid woman, I could have…" He looked up at Hari as she stood over him.  
>She was wearing a startlingly white high-necked blouse with a small cameo brooch at the throat. Her hair was carefully pinned up, all very proper, an innocent little miss. Till you looked down again. Then it was a very short black leather skirt, oh, and the boots…thigh length and again black leather. Definitely not innocent.<br>He whistled. "My, but don't you look good." He grinned and sat up leaning back on the car, his jeans and vest smeared with engine oil. He wiped his dirty hands on a rag. Not attempting to stand, he crossed his long legs and went on looking at the space between the end of the boots and the beginning of her skirt. He sniffed and grinned. "I missed ya."  
>"You're a disgusting, lying bastard." Hari walked away, back to her much-abused Morris Traveller. "I don't need you keeping tabs on me. I come and go as I please."<br>He was up and at her side, pulling her round onto him.  
>"You stink," she said quietly, pushing at him ineffectually, looking at the tattoo on his shoulder. She sucked at her bottom lip, keeping the desire to lick, only just at bay. Why couldn't he just wear overalls like the other mechanics?<br>It was a quiet time for her, no pills, and no sex. She was trying so hard to stay in the real world.  
>"I need to talk to you. Serious like…About Arnie Carteret?" Ricky was making a poor attempt to ignore the pull of her. Her perfume was not like Piri's lemony, clean citrus. Hari's was warm spice, with just a hint of musk.<br>_Christ_, but he had to stay focused.  
>"<em>Oh no<em>, whatever he's done to you, it's your look out. Take my advice and stay away." She wrenched open the car door, but his arm was across the gap, stopping her from getting in.  
>"Too late, it's already happened. We were stationed together out in Malaya. He was a bastard then, no change now I take it?"<br>She stood back and looked up at him, and smiled tightly. "Bet you looked good in uniform, bet all the local girls loved you, big man." It was only half anger.  
>"There are people who want him to pay. Are you one of them?" He felt the need to drag his fingers up over the breast clad in virginal white. He only just resisted.<br>"You know nothing. No one gets anything on Uncle Arnie. _He fucks you over_, not the other way round." But she was interested. Revenge on Arnie Carteret. How sweet would that be?  
>"Would you give the police help to get him?"<br>"Are you mad, help the Fuzz?" Hari's laugh was totally without amusement. "Why, so they can come after me? I'm not that dumb."  
>Ricky played with a tiny curl of her hair that had escaped its confines and rested on her nape. She shrugged him off. He was nudging her slowly into wanting, and that was out of the question. She needed control, and unless she was very careful, with him, there would be none.<br>"Think about it." Ricky was feeling it too; his natural impulse was to stroke her, touch the exposed tanned skin of her thigh. It was what he wanted.  
>"Was that it? You want me to be a…what? A stool pigeon?"<br>Ricky laughed out loud. "Yea, a stoolie! I can just see ya in court, pet. You'd have the judge eatin' out of yuhr hand."  
>"Go screw yourself!" She tried to wriggle by him into the car.<br>He sighed and backed off. "Think about it; let me know if ya change ya mind."  
>Then in a fleeting move he didn't see coming, her tongue caught the inked words at his shoulder.<br>And she was gone._Lusus Naturae_  
>He watched her pull away, crunching the gears as she went.<br>Which one of them was the freak?  
>Did it matter?<br>He wanted more of her, he couldn't help it.

Hari swore continually to herself as she drove back to her studio. She _didn't_ want him; she wanted peace from all of it. She wanted to be left alone to paint, without pills or people. She wanted to pour out what was in her head. Give it some sort of order, make sense of it. Create something real from it, something she could see the form and shape of her life in.  
>No, it was a lie, all of it. She didn't have the power within her to make this happen. She needed help, she always needed help. She was pathetic.<br>There it was the voice. It seeped into her mind, edging out the hope, dragging her from place where she clung to reality. Pushing her forward into dependence, need, the empty void that she could not fill alone.  
><em>"NOOOOO!"<em>  
>She yelled at the top of her lungs, into the long cavernous workroom that was her studio, her home.<br>The expensive, carefully chosen designer clothes were flung off; she sat naked on the bed and pulled the long boots from her legs, heaving them across the room one at a time.  
>Pulling on an oversized man's dress shirt, she began to paint. Angry swipes of red and black stung the canvas, covering the picture already there, almost obscuring the gold and yellow of the previous impression.<br>This was fury; this was pain and…was this hate?  
>If it was, who did she hate?<br>Ricky? No, sure he took only what he wanted, but gave too, not much, but it was something.  
>Her father? Not him either, he was as pathetic as she was.<br>No, it was Carteret. He caused this; he fed her, the same as he fed her mother. Fed her the lie that without him and the pills he gave her, she was nothing.  
>She worked till the light was gone. Till her arms ached, her back too stiff to bend. Pulling off the shirt, she lay naked on the rickety iron bed, wrapping the embroidered crimson coverlet around herself, she slept, exhausted.<br>She dreamt of Ricky loving her, there in her old iron bed, loving her until she wept from the sheer beauty of it.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't make any money from this.  
>Rating: NC17<br>Summary: Hari invites Ricky for a spot of...afternoon delight!  
>And again, thank you Jen for being my beta.<p>

The Road 18

Ricky got his knee down, skimming the kerbstones, almost tearing through the denim of his jeans. The heat from the engine seared his calves; he knew there would be friction burns on his boots. But the rapidity of his pulse and the pleasurable smouldering in his belly were well worth the price of a pair of jeans.

Speed that was what he needed. It was uncomplicated, unadulterated. It was in the blood that fed his brain, the familiar mix of chemicals that kept his heart beating. The revs that vibrated along the body of the bike, gave him the same thrill they gave Piri that night. He was as hard as iron and he wasn't sure which was causing it, the ride or the thought of Hari waiting for him.

And she was waiting.  
>Her message had been clear. Just an address and her name. Now he was aching something fierce.<p>

The address was an old cotton store on the riverfront. It looked deserted, but the small door within the larger gates had oiled hinges and bore all the signs of recent use, even the letterbox was new.

"Hari, are ya there?" Ricky called as he stepped in, his voice echoing in the vaulted entrance.

Once, huge carts hauled giant bales of cotton through those gates, all the way from the southern states of America. They were stored carefully in the enormous cotton rooms. Fire a constant hazard, bales had been known to spontaneously combust if left too long. Buyers from the mill towns came to purchase and collected the raw materials of their trade from here. Even now the smell of the cotton oil still hung faintly acrid on the air, the ghost of what once caused this place to be.

On the rickety gates of the old hand cranked lift he saw a hand painted sign.

'Hari Colbert, Painter extraordinaire in residence, not all callers welcome.'

He laughed and pulled hard on the gates to open them. The sound of the lift mechanism as he pumped the handle was ear crushing. No one was ever going to sneak up on Hari.

The low tones of a sax playing soft, melodic jazz was humming below the painful jarring of metal on metal

The lift opened onto the long storeroom/studio. The light poured in through a wall of glass on one side. Made up as it was of small panes set in corroding metal surrounds, it made the place perfect for a painter. The far end was obviously her living area; a large Victorian brass bed frame, its mattress draped in shiny red fabric, stood in the centre. A mosquito net hung over the bed from a thick metal girder that ran the length of the ceiling. The wall opposite the windows was hung with what appeared to be her wardrobe.

"Nice, a mite big, but nice." He stepped forward and pulled off his heavy leather jacket.

His eye was drawn to the sparkly green of the dress she'd worn to the party. A flash of their encounter that night brought a sly smile to his lips.

Hari stood, leaning on a gleaming, and obviously new, sink unit. In front of her was an old battered farmhouse table, with four chairs of differing styles pushed under it.

"Suits me." She looked bored. It was of course fake, she wanted to giggle. The painting she had done earlier was spectacular, the best for so long, and all on an almost straight head. Now she was going to reward herself with a different fix.

Ricky.

He slung the jacket over a chair, and went looking round. Pots of paints, jars with brushes, and a floor covered in splashes of spilt colours. This was obviously her work area. The wall on this side of the room were lined with stacks of propped up canvases, some clean and prepared, some half finished, some completed. He looked through a couple, nodding his approval. "Davinia said ya were a painter, but she didn't say how good. These are excellent."

"She said you were a poet. I read a few of them; I like your rhythm, your images. Painful though."

Ricky shook his head and laughed. "Aye, they were painful times. She's trying to sell me as a British beat poet, daft bint." He said as he pulled out a small piece of paper from between two canvases. It was a precisely executed sketch of a Harley's exhaust, as seen from above…the view of someone leaning over the seat! He laughed in surprise. "Ha…Jesus, ya drew the view from…"

"Yep, a view I'm not likely to forget." She turned, took a deep breath, and said over her shoulder, "Coffee, beer, a glass of wine maybe?"

"Gotta Broon?"

Excitement clench at her belly.

All this feeling and no pills, she was amazed.

Pointing to a cupboard, she sipped her wine. "The opener is in the draw."

He helped himself, and took a swig. "Ya 're not wearing the boots; I liked those, very sexy. Thought a lot about them boots the last couple of hours." He crossed his arms and leant back on his hip, looking at her legs, sighing, disappointedly.

"So you don't like what I'm wearing now?" She had on a plain sack dress, a pale green silk. The slash neckline showing delicate collarbones. It wasn't as short as the leather skirt, but it was simple, elegant. The shoes were black patent stilettos; she almost reached his shoulder now.

No stockings were in evidence, much to his dissatisfaction.

She tossed her mutinous hair defiantly. "Anyway, I only wear those to make a point."

"And ya point was?" He held the bottle up, studying its label.

"To remind you I'm here, of course." Hari turned from him, biting her lip. She so wanted to laugh, she felt elated, on a natural high.

"Oh aye, I'd noticed ya were around; don't fret about that, little girl," he growled.

She swayed toward the bed, and Ricky felt his balls tighten at the sight of her pulling the green silk over her head, his burgeoning erection swelling painfully in his jeans.

As she turned towards him, the strap of her black petticoat slipped from one shoulder, uncovering a small, perfect breast.

"Fuck me." He groaned his head back, eyes rolling heavenward.

"Now, you see," she sighed. "I'm supposed to say that." The bed creaked as she climbed on, the stilettos sliding, with a clatter to the ground. She faced him. "I have a gift for you, care to see?"

How he was not on her, he wasn't sure. She looked like absolute sex. He tried to hold on to his composure as he wandered casually across to see his gift.

A small giggle escaped her as she knelt on the bed, knees apart, hips thrust forward. She had control, how odd!

"So ya 're giving me a present, hinny?" He spoke low and reached for her, but she waved him away.

"Wait...step back."

Slowly she drew the lacy hem of the slip up her thigh.

"What the…" He moved forward and drew the soft fabric further up to her belly.

She was laughing properly now, his look of awed fascination pleased her no end.

"Jeez, ya are a nut job. But, by Christ, ya never are boring."

"Well, master, does it please you?" She put her index finger in her mouth and looked at him big eyed.

"I think ya may just have broken some rules. Did I tell you to shave ya cunt?" He loved it, and slid his hand over the strange, soft, smooth plumpness.

"Oh, no?" she said breathily. "Do I need correction?" She curled her hands in towards her belly, still holding up the crumpled black lace.

"I may have to think about it." He was running his finger slowly, over the smooth, damp slit.

Hari's breathing was shallow, halting. She was aching for him. Reaching forward, she caught the back of his neck, pulled him to her and kissed his mouth. Yielding, offering him all she had, if he wanted it.

In his head, he knew she was too complicated, that everything she offered would end in trouble, but hell, what a way to go.

"I think…I may let ya off this time, but ya need to be more careful pet."  
>Hari tingled, almost quivered with anticipation. Ricky's fingertips were gliding, only just touching her. She couldn't bear the frisson of need that racked her.<br>"What do you want me to do?" she whispered, hoarsely.  
>His head to one side, Ricky considered. Standing back, he pulled his shirt over his head. "I want ya to remember the rules." Watching fascinated as he stripped, she studied his body. She desperately wanted to run her hand over the muscled area at the juncture of his hip and groin, down to his erection. There were small scars on the left side of his neck and shoulder, continuing up to just under his cheek, they were old, almost faded. But his body was lean, sculpted muscle, defined and hard, like an athlete. Its perfection marred only slightly by another small scar on his back, just above the hip. She vaguely wondered how he got them all.<br>Oh to touch him...  
>Ah, but the rules. Oh, those rules."Let me touch you…just a little?" She swallowed, she didn't want to beg.<p>

"I told ya pet, Sssh." He looked at her and at the bed, then tossing the last of his clothes into a heap. He said quietly, "Move back."  
>She shuffled back till she was at the bed head. She reached down to pull off the petticoat.<br>"No leave it, I like it." He ran his hand over the fabric at her hip. "Feels…nice." He ducked his head and sucked hard on a lace-covered nipple.  
>Hari groaned and cupped the exposed breast, pinching the distended bud there.<br>"Ya like that? But ya shouldn't have moved. I told ya before, only do what I tell ya." He held his erection; smearing the clear fluid that spilled from it across the silky material that covered her belly.

Hari leant back and gripped the top of the metal bed frame, forcing her breasts and pelvis out towards him.

Ricky smiled as he saw her wind her wrists through the brass rods to steady herself.  
>Hari's eyes felt heavy with her need, her lips looked swollen, where she anxiously licked and bit them.<br>But Ricky took his own tortuous time. He edged the black silk up her hips as she flexed and undulated, begging for attention, wordlessly.  
>She felt the tip of his cock nudge at the plump softness between her legs. He was still holding himself, dragging the hard flesh over her aching cunt.<br>"Hmmm, that's good, feels strange…but…." He leant into her and took her mouth in small gentle, sucking kisses. Then her neck, then her throat.  
>She stretched inviting him to take whatever he wanted. Just tiny sighing gasps escaping her. Her eyes closed, the effort to keep them open, too much for her.<br>Then she felt his thickness slip between the lips of her sex. Slowly, oh so slowly, pushing the bud there.

She pushed back.

"Rules…I'll give ya what ya need hinny." It was said so softly she barely heard it. A slight change of angle pulled the tender flesh around her clit, dragging on it, teasing it. He knew what he was doing. She opened her eyes dreamily, and he was smiling, watching her expression, listening to her sighing breaths.

Suddenly he angled himself up, penetrating her. She squealed in surprise. His mouth was at her nipple again, sucking and biting at it through the lace. He slid himself in and out with measured care.  
>If it had not been for the ache in her thighs and back, she would have been mindless with pleasure.<p>

"Please, I can't…"

Ricky grunted, lifted her hips and pulling her thighs over his, he took her weight and thrust up harder. "Better?" he growled. It was expertly done. He was deeper, and the pull at her sensitised flesh was painfully exquisite.

She writhing on his cock, blowing a stray curl from her face, she nodded furiously.

Ricky kept up his rhythm; he was holding the bed head, hands either side of her head. With each thrust, his face brushed hers. Her breasts slid against his chest in jerky sweeps.

The old bed groaned its distress, but held true.

The feel of her full naked sex as he drove in and out of her, as she flexed in answer, caused just about as much friction as he could stand. He felt as if his cock was ten times more sensitive to each sweeping arc into her. The wet slide felt fantastic as he looked down to watch their bodies pounding.  
>Ricky's quickened the pace of his thrusts, and Hari felt the torture of the seconds before orgasm. The delightful pain of her nerve endings bursting within the white light, her little death.<p>

"Yes…" she hissed, and laughed.

Ricky pounded harder and snarled, "Funny…fuckin' funny is it." Then it was his turn to shatter, throat tight, head thrown back. "Fuckin' Christ…yes." He swore through clenched teeth. The muscles of his face and neck tight.

Breathing coming in panting gasps, they still both hung on to the bed frame, spent.

Ricky's face buried at Hari's neck, his cock still deep inside her. He nudged her ear with his mouth, sucking the lobe, biting softly. "Ya're getting better hinny." He laughed breathlessly. "I think we'll do that again in a bit."

Hari clenched on him and he winced.

"Rules, pet, rules," he groaned.

She did it again…and again.

"I think," smiling sweetly, she said. "the rules have just changed." Lifting herself off his softening length, she wriggled away.

He watched her in consternation. "Where the fuck are ya off to?"

"I'm hungry, and I need to pee." She sauntered away, her curvaceous backside, swaying in its black rumbled silk, away from him.

Ricky pushed himself off the bed and followed her. He pulled open the toilet door.

"No," she said calmly as she sat there.

"No, what?" He looked bemused.

"No, I'm not going to suck your cock while I sit on the loo."

"I never asked ya to." He looked slightly guilty.

"It went through your mind." She smiled and stood up.

OK, he had thought it, briefly. And yea, the rules had changed; there was a new game between them now.

She pushed past him. "Fancy a sausage sarni?"

"Two." Smiling, indicating the amount with two fingers as he closed the toilet door.

"Was he ya lover?"

"Who?"

"Carteret." Ricky was holding her on his chest.

They had eaten and played their new game. This one was less aggressive, but no less vigorous. In this game, they laughed, fed each other pieces of sausage. Hari smeared HP sauce on Ricky's nipples and licked it off, while he complained that it stung, and tried to steal what was left of her snack. They stroked and kissed. He'd investigated his gift, with artful fingers and mouth.

"No, he was my mother's," she said quietly. It was bound to come up; she had just hoped that was all she had to say to keep him silent on the subject.

"So not a sex thing then?"

"None of your business." The air had become tense between them. Hari pulled away from him. "I don't want to talk about him, he's poison. OK?"

"I know that, but he hurt ya?"

She moved to get up from the bed, but he held her wrists. "Stay…I might want ya again."

"But I might not want you. A few fucks do not a relationship make." She said over her shoulder. She knew it wasn't true, she allowed him to keep her there.

"Ya don't need that stuff ya take, ya know." Ricky said quietly. "I've seen yer work, that's talent, not drugs."

"You know nothing Bike Boy." She shoved his hands away and crawled off the bed.

Ricky sighed and lent on his elbow to watch her. "Ya could get the bastard put away for a good long while. Ya'd be free."

"Look, just mind your own business." She pulled on his crumpled shirt.

"What about when they come after you as an accessory?"

"Don't be stupid, I'm just…"

"Ya are a user, and that's all they care about. If they can get Carteret with ya help…" He shrugged. "Inspector Gently's a reasonable man. He'd see no sense in pursuing ya."

Hari sat cross legged on a kitchen chair and lit a cigarette. She blew smoke out in a steady stream. She knew he was right, knew there was no other way of freeing herself from Carteret.

Ricky rolled onto his back, hands behind his head, and stared at the high vaulted ceiling. What did he want from Hari?  
>More, just more.<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: No money, no acclaim, just fun.

Rating: NC17

Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.

The Road 19

Hari sat with her feet on the chair opposite her. She had smoked four cigarettes and drunk half a bottle of wine while she contemplated her future, such as it was. Ricky was gaining a hold on her that she knew she could not allow to last.  
>It was fun…<em>Oh Christ<em>, it was more than fun, it was just so good with him. She'd never felt like this without the pills before. Never felt like this with_ any_ man before. But he wanted something from her that she didn't want to give, didn't have. He wanted her to be something she was not.  
>And in the end all that mattered to her was her work.<br>True, because of him she eased off the Dexi's, found a kind of confidence. But she knew she'd do something dumb, he's get pissed off, and then she would resent him…then it would be a mess…  
>Another mess.<br>No, not another mess, she couldn't handle that.  
>Leaning back and listening to his breathing, she sighed softly at the low rumbling snore, a warm, comforting sound.<br>Smiling she stood up; she knew how to preserve this. Carefully she went to the cupboard and lifted out an aging Leica M3. She liked the old camera. Though it was heavy, it sat well in her hands. It had been a present from her mother for her 15th birthday.  
>She moved back to the bed.<br>Ricky was sprawled back, the red satin cover had slipped off, he was naked, beautifully exposed. The early evening sun came dappled through the old flawed glass, and fell in distorted rectangles across his smooth pale skin. Hari moved softly about the bed clicking the shutter, changing the angles. The superb male body with all its perfection and imperfections, relaxed, loose limbed. His cock lay up against his thigh, as if on the onset of hardness. His hand slipped down, cupping himself in sleep. He groaned and shifted position, head back.  
>She photographed only his body, the underside of his throat, Adams apple.<br>She clicked on the sensuous curve of his thigh as it joined the muscles of his groin and belly. Those, and the small hollows on his lower back, were possibly her favourite parts. She wanted to kiss them now, run her tongue over the hard smoothness of him.  
>One day she would paint this.<br>But not today, instead she sat back and thought about Uncle Arnie.

Ricky's dreams were troubled.  
>He was at the temple, the sun beating on ancient stones. Only it wasn't Carteret in front of him. It was Billy on his hands and knees, begging for more. Then the sun and Billy disappeared. Now Piri was wrapping an endless bandage around his cock, telling him she'd make it all better, while Hari lay next to him, just naked and sad.<br>He woke with a start.  
>The place felt empty.<br>Hari was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: No money is made.  
>Rating: NC17<p>

The Road 20

The police station was an Edwardian structure that oozed solidity. Hari actually quite liked the swirling Art Nouveau door plates and stained glass; somehow it made her feel less intimidated. She really needed to feel in control of this.

When she was told the Chief Inspector was not available, but that she could see Detective Sergeant Bacchus, she had the terrible feeling that things were already beginning to slipping away from her.

When John got the message that Harriet Colbert was there to see the Gently, he was jubilant. At last his opportunity to dazzle had come.

"Well, Miss Colbert, how can I help you?" John could hardly believe his luck; Hari Colbert had come to him!  
>"I was hoping to speak to Chief Inspector Gently." She sat carefully on the proffered bentwood chair, crossing her black booted legs, elegantly, giving Bacchus a flash of black lace and creamy thigh beneath the incredibly short red tartan skirt. The tan leather jacket was expensive and looked butter soft, the seemingly demure white blouse was undone just one button too far down, giving glimpses of black lace bra. The look was more slightly careless than tarty.<p>

He swallowed; a smile of disbelieving scorn curved his mouth. How the fuck had Deeming managed to pull this girl. She was everything John Bacchus wanted, sexy, upper crust, loaded and within reach.

He still had difficulty dealing with the fact, that whatever _he_ thought Ricky's history to be, the man obviously had a way with women. His aunt's lodger, the pretty dark-haired girl with the big tits, and now this little beauty. The bastard was a loser; he was a damn Nancy boy, worked in bloody garage _and lived with his auntie for Christ sake!_

"Well I'm afraid he's away at the moment, but I'm sure I can help you. It's about Arnold Carteret I take it?" he sat back in Gently's chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, in a pale imitation of his boss.

"Hmmm…" She considered him doubtfully. "Look, I don't know exactly what you want from me, but I think I would be better talking to your superior."

That did it for John.

"Is that what Ricky told you? A few words with the Chief Inspector and it's all sorted out?" He was annoyed now. He could handle this, no problem.

"I believe all I need do is let you know who Arnie's business partners are. Then you arrest them. Hey presto…" She waved her hand with a flourish as if she held a wand.

"That's it? That's what Ricky told ya? A few names and ya 're off the hook for all the drugs ya bin buyin' and possibly sellin' on?" He dropped his careful enunciation. Now it was time to bully, not impress.

"I don't sell…I just…" She shook her head, suddenly hesitant. Hari knew he could possibly turn nasty, she just hadn't expected it quite so soon.

"Ya, Miss Colbert, wanna turn _snitch._" The smile that curled his mouth, was bordering on a sneer. He leant forward. _"Ya can be my snitch_." It wasn't an offer. "I can get the charges that _could_ be set at ya door, let's just say…I may well be able to make 'em disappear." He was enjoying this. He sat back, hands across his belly, self satisfied. "Prison for a young lady, such as ya self _Miss_ Colbert, would it be an option ya'd consider? _If _ya give me what I _need_, it wouldn't have ta be."

There seemed to be so much more in the word _need_, it made her skin itch.

"What do you want me to do?" Hari hadn't been scared when she'd come here.

She was now.

"What I want is Carteret. I him bang-to-rights." He repeated Gently's phrase carefully. "I want him tellin' ya about his connections, his routes, his inside pay-offs, the lot. _And I want to hear him sayin' i_t."

Hari swallowed deeply. Ricky was a bastard, but surely he never envisaged this? Had he set her up? The bastard had told her to come to these people. She could have walked away from all of it, gone…somewhere…anywhere, far from all of them. But she knew it wasn't true, she would have stayed and it would go on.

Uncle Arnie owned her…

Abruptly she stood, taking the cigarettes out of her bag, she went to light one, but found Bacchus behind her, over her.

"Here." He clicked his Dunhill to life.

Hari drew heavily on the smoke.

"What do you see in Deeming?" His voice was low, almost caressing. He lifted a wayward blonde curl, studied the full, promising lips. The cigarette looked positively phallic there. His eyes slid to the inviting curve of her breasts. She was totally wasted on Deeming.

Hari took the ciggie elegantly from her mouth, looked up, big eyed, her lips pouting, the picture of innocence. Then she exhaled the smoke into Bacchus's face.

"_He's a seriously good fuck...officer."_

John Bacchus rarely wanted to hit a woman, but he wanted to now. Wanted to backhand her, then bend her over the desk and give her what she deserved. The superior bitch.

Did she have a choice? It didn't sound like it."OK, where do you want Carteret?"

Almost choking in his rage, Detective Sergeant John Bacchus spat out, "Your place, eight o'clock tomorrow night. I'll have armed men outside. I'll be in there, _listening_."

"Well then I'll have to give you something worthwhile hearing, wont I." Smiling her sweetest smile, she turned and left the dingy office with its stuffy, dog-end smell. She left the door wide open; an open door annoyed people much more than slammed one.

She'd give the fucking bastards what they wanted. She'd offer herself to uncle Arnie, just take a pill, and let him boast as he did what he'd wanted to do for years


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: No money made.

Rating: NC17

Thank you for being my beta Jen

The Road 21

"Well, George, we're a long way from Naples now, old fella." Delacy looked almost saddened by the thought.

"Long way, long time, different world." George Gently sat back and studied his glass of old Everett brandy.

"You really think so? I see the same evil, just few new faces now."

"You always were a mournful bastard."

The two men grinned at each other. Memories they shared, unspoken of, but not forgotten.

"How's the world of secrets treatin' you, Phillip?"

Delacy pulled a dismissive face. "Too much rivalry between departments." He sighed and swished the dark gold liquid in his glass. "The Yanks are so scared of the Commies taking over in West Germany; they've put bloody ex Nazi's back in charge!" He swigged his drink. "The PM is paranoid. He thinks we're all plotting against him. And the bloody Foreign Office seems to be run exclusively by chaps I was at Cambridge with." Delacy sighed. "And I didn't 'em trust then."

Gently's grin widened. "Basically, no different then?"

"The war was a damn sight less complicated."

Both men nodded sadly, as old men do when looking at change in an unchanging world.

The inspector leant forward in the old battered armchair and held up the dusty, antiquated brandy bottle, raising an eyebrow in a silent offer.

"God, yes, a large one this time." Delacy settled back with his glass full, trying to get comfortable in the scruffy chair. "I'm pretty sure they pay you enough to buy some decent furniture George?"

"Ah, well our…_my_ stuff, it's all in storage in Wapping. I sold the house." He paused, and frowned. "I couldn't bring meself to fetch it up here. So I rent this place, complete with its ugly, uncomfortable furniture." George's smile was sad, reflective. "Isabella would-have-_hated _it."

"She had taste. Her only blind spot was you!" Delacy said chuckling.

Georges smile widened into a laconic grin. "Very true. She'd never of countenanced any of this junk in _our_ home." He brushed at the scuffed and worn arm of a chair that had seen much better days.

Both men fell into a thoughtful silence till George pulled himself back from a yawning black chasm, the one that always opened before him when his thoughts went to Isabella.

"So, there's an East German connection in my drugs case?" he said briskly.

"East German, Polish, Czech, Hungarian. You name it. People seem to think the only crimes in Warsaw pact countries are political. Don't you believe it? Drugs are manufactured and sold there, shipped here. Just like everywhere else. Only difference is they are cheaper to produce there, and there's a serious amount of money to be made selling here, up north."

"Funny that, someone else told me more or less the same thing a while ago." George tucked his chin down and thought of Webster's prophetic words.

"Well, you're getting the drugs through a refugee escape route. The stuff goes through the eastern bloc, up to the Baltic, across the North Sea to the east coast. Everyone feels sorry for the poor blighters escaping, so a lot of blind eyes have been turned. Clever bastards relied on us backing the underdog. Not all the refugees are mules of course, but just enough to turn a handsome profit for those back home." Delacy's voice was earnest, intent.

"You sound like you know who, how and when, what do you want from me?"

"A man named Arnold Carteret, late of Her Majesty's Northumbrian Rifles. Ex captain, officer and a gentleman." The sneer in his voice showed his distaste for the man. "Military Cross for bravery, saved the life of one of his men…sapper Richard Deeming."

"There we go with the coincidences; I never did like 'em. But I'd be surprised if Deeming's involved in the drug thing though. It's not his thing. Don't have any evidence that's changed" He thought of Ricky's reaction to their conversation about Hari Colbert.

"No, it's my belief that the Deemings, that's his aunt Phillipa, as well. She takes in waifs and strays from the escape line." Delacy drew a deep breath. "They _are_ just a coincidence. As I said, I knew the other sister Amilia, from way back." Phillip Delacy paused and slipped at his brandy, pensively. His history with Amilia would not cloud his judgement. He was not that sort of man. He cleared his throat. "No, it's Carteret; he's the thing that brings it together. He's got all the right connections _and_ form. Nasty little blighter, was involved in a rather unsavoury ring of specialist brothels a few years back. Slippery sort, out before we could pin him down. But his card was marked, and now he's surfaced again, right on your doorstep. I want him George. He's got all the information we need to put a whole swathe of drug runners out of business.

George steepled his fingers under his chin and sucked in air over his teeth. "Then, my friend…I think we should go get 'im."


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: No money is made.

Rating: NC17

Thank you Jen, for being my Beta.

The Road 22

The radio played The Beatles: A taste of honey, tasting much sweeter than wine...

Hari held her trinket box close to her chest, hugging it.

Uncle Arnie was coming to her.

He would be in her home, her haven. It was far more than an old storeroom, more than a place to live. And she had opened it up to two men, both could destroy her, one unquestionably would.

She opened the silly, pretty, trinket box; its mock rococo gilt curlicues, battered and broken, the twirling ballerina had long since ceased her twirling. The key that made the music play, lost an age ago.

Hari took out the small buff envelope and scattered the contents on the red satin bed cover. White Pills rolled and lay there. She looked at them, for a split second, the thought of just swallowing them all, slipped in and out of her mind.

No, she wasn't her mother, whatever Arnie or her father thought.

A twinge in her belly caused her to rub her palm absently over her navel.

She'd never used contraception. Getting pregnant would have annoyed her father, that, she would have enjoyed. But she had never, to her knowledge, conceived. So she always assumed being barren was just another of Fate's little jokes.

Till a week ago, when her period still hadn't made an appearance. Ricky had been the only man she'd had sex with for what seemed a long time, was it possible he'd impregnated her?

No, it could not happen. She couldn't let this happen. How could she deserve a child?

His child. How could she take care of another human being? She was a bloody pill head!

She threw herself back on the bed, causing the tablets to roll and bounce away. Tears began to slide down her cheeks and trickle into her hair.

For fuck's sake she couldn't be…not now, not like this.

The crunching, whining sound of the hand cranked lift made her sit up sharply.

Bacchus was early. She wiped her runny nose and eyes on her sleeve like a kid. Shaking her head, as if that would dislodge the dumb thoughts.

Well he wouldn't find her like this. She fluffed her hair and looked in the mirror; her eyes were only a little puffy. He'd put that down to the drugs. She blew her nose and turned as the lift reached her floor.

Glancing down she saw the pills and scooped them back into the envelope, all except one. That, she swallowed.

"Hari, darling, what a smashing little Pied-à-terre. Did daddy buy it for you? Stop you going home, was that the idea?" Arnie Carteret stood in the lift, leaning against the gates, his hands in perfectly tailored Italian silk pockets.

Hari tipped her head back. "Fucking, bollixing hell!" She sighed. "Arnie, you're far too early, I was going to have a bath."

"Still can old love, still can."

Arnie Carteret took a bite of the full, ripe strawberry held out to him. He licked at the fingers holding the remaining fruit and smiled.

Hari looked away, disgust registering with the every movement.

"That's it Hari, you know you're home now don't you?" He laughed and caressed the curve of her shoulder; the shiver he saw only made the whole thing more delicious. "It was always going to happen you know. Preordained really." He dragged a lazy finger along the smooth tanned skin, letting the nail score a thread thin red line.

Oh, he was so going to enjoy this.

She was 14 when her mother first introduced Uncle Arnie to her. It had been Hari's school Founders Day, every one else had mummy and daddy come for the formal school occasion. She had mummy and mummy's young lover. A young lover who talked to her mother as if she were the hired help and lost no opportunity to cup and squeeze the 14-year-olds breasts, whenever he found her alone.

Hari had no idea why she was letting this happen. She should have walked away. She could be having Ricky's baby…she definitely was fucking her life up again.

Carteret sighed and stood up from the bed, as if there were an unpleasant chore he had to perform. Hari stayed where she was, swaying slightly she put out her hand to grip the brass spindle at the head of the bed. The tee shirt she was wearing, _all_ that she was wearing, was large and covered her knees, but it had slipped off her shoulder. Carteret pulled it up over her head; she didn't try and stop him. Instead she lifted her arms to help its removal. She was kneeling facing him, naked now. He just watched her, letting his eyes take in all of her. He liked the shaven exposure of her sex, he smiled, let her see his approval.

The look seemed to ignite something within her. She lifted herself, knees apart, hips pushed out towards him, her arms hanging back, her breasts almost on offer. She closed her eyes. "Please, do something."

"And what would you have me do, poor little Hari, is your baby cunt aching again?" He was standing up against the bed, so close to her that when he moved, his expensive Italian suite brushed her skin.

"Yes." Her voice was small, plaintive, begging.

"Should I help you, little Hari? If I touch you, would you feel better, or just want more?" He watched as she bit her lip hard. A hand cupped her swollen breast, a thumb flicked at the nipple, then it twisted and tugged hard.

Hari moaned, but pulled herself back, intensifying the pain.

"Oh, you are like mummy aren't you?" He took the other side in the same way, and tugged both together. She whimpered.

Carteret unzipped his fly and released his erection. "Maybe you should touch yourself. Hmmm…Yes, I think I'd quite like that." He took her hand and guided it down between her legs.

It was almost more than she could bear. She looked up at him, her mouth open with another groan on her lips.

He pushed her fingers into her wet core. "There, doesn't that feel good."

"No…I want…" Pulling herself free, she took his cock in her hands and kissed it. "I want this." Her tongue lapped, as it would at a melting ice cream.

And it was Carteret's turn to moan. Then he chuckled contemptuously. "Turn around."

She obeyed, and he pushed her face down into the coverlet.

He entered her unprepared anus with a brutality that, even in her hazy bemused state, shocked Hari. It burned and ripped her, every thrust hurt to a degree that she didn't think possible.

No attempt to share pleasure, just hurt, degrade, punish.

"No…please…hurts…too much!" Hari twisted and tried to release herself from his grip, but he caught her wrists and forcing them behind her, pulling her shoulders painfully up and back.

"Oh no, my darling Hari, we've not even got started yet." His loud grunts and her small whimpering sobs, the only sound to be heard in what had been her sanctuary.

He took his time in his pleasures, fed her a concoction of pills to ensure her acquiescence. And laid waste to her pale soft skin, laughing as he did.

.

When he left her, bruises were already leeching from black to purple to red through delicate skin. Her throat, breasts and denuded cunt, bore grazes and teeth marks. The coverlet on the bed was stained with her blood and his semen.

She done this to herself, she caused this. It had not helped the police, it had her brought no relief, only self disgust.  
>And so much pain.<br>The radio played on: I know all there is to know about the crying game...

"You did what?" Chief Inspector Gently groaned, almost in a whisper.

"No, see it's OK, I got clearance for the small arms and everything. He'll not get away from us!" So pleased with his initiative taking, Bacchus didn't look up or hear the warning in Gently's voice.

"You coerced this vulnerable young girl, into inviting a dangerous, evil bastard like Carteret to her home?" George gritted his teeth. His doubts about Bacchus surfacing again. "What were you thinking? No sorry, you weren't thinking were you!"

"Get you and your men over there, now!" He lifted the phone and began to dial, turning his back on the younger officer.

It was Bacchus who found her. But he and his officers were too late, Carteret was gone. Hari was curled up on her bed, blood congealed on and around her. Her body silent and empty.

He knew Carteret was responsible, and he knew he had put her in harm's.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: No money is made.

Rating: NC17

Thank you for being my Beta Jen.

The Road 23

The cold green and cream walls of St. Mungo's casualty department flowed past Hari's unfocused eyes. Thanks to the morphine in her system, the pain had now receded. Just a dull discomfort hung over her. Slow bizarre pictures slid through her mind, but no train of thought. When she tried to hold an image it morphed into another, so she just let them, too exhausted to care.

The forbearing anger of the emergency doctor went unnoticed by her. His heavy sighs and gritted teeth registered with John Bacchus though. He knew his stupidity had caused this. He'd blown it, they'd lost Carteret. And what amounted to his basic sexual jealousy of Ricky Deeming had almost cost this girl her life.

A small dark haired nurse straightened Hari's bedclothes and stood back. Piri had been as appalled as everyone else at the injuries to the young woman.

"Well, she's lost the child, but no serious damage to the uterus or the fallopian tubes. Vagina's got a few nasty cuts, grazes. Anus is a bit of a mess she's going down for surgery in about half an hour. We've given her enough blood, I think, but an hour later and she'd be gone." The doctor rubbed his eyes and looked searchingly at Gently. "What sort of_ animal_ does this? Have you _seen_ the bite marks? _That was the work of a man, for Christ sake!"_

"We'll get 'im, don't you worry. That bastard won't get away with it this time." He threw Bacchus a look of disdain. Then was distracted by shouting outside in the corridor.

"Where is she? What 'ave ya done with 'er." Ricky thundered to a halt in front of the doctor and chief inspector, his helmet swinging murderously in his hand.

Piri stood open mouthed, Ricky knew this girl! She slipped further back; nothing she would hear now would be good.

"Wait, Ricky! Wait." Gently held him back. "She's going down for surgery, she's unconscious."

"Surgery! What the fuck happened, what did she do to 'erself?" He tried to push the men out of his way, but they stood firm.

Piri winced; everything she had imagined between them was vanishing in front of her.

"Not 'er, she…she didn't do anything. Carteret…'e…" Bacchus started to explain, but Ricky rounded on him.

"Carteret? Why…_you set 'er up_… you bastards. I told 'er to come to you, give you the information you needed to put 'im away…and you fuckers…you used 'er, set 'er up." He stood back, he was culpable too. He said it would free her, she listened to him. Christ, it was his fault as much as theirs. His face suddenly unreadable, he asked, "What happened?"

Bacchus started forward to speak, but Gently motioned him back. "She agreed to get Carteret to tell her all the names, places. All she could get…she…"

"Wait, what da ya mean, '_get him to tell her_;' why would he do that? He's a hardened criminal; he'd not just tell her…?" He suddenly understood. "_Pillow talk?_ Was that yor idea? She'd let him do what he wanted, and then he'd be so grateful for the fuck he'd spill the beans? _How bloody stupid are ya?" _He was tightly wound, just the smallest jerking of a tiny nerve below his eye, betrayed how tight.

"And you are?" the doctor asked curiously. "Husband, boyfriend?"

Hidden behind the men, Piri fought to hold back her tears. Ricky was the father of this girl's child. Her heart took one more downward lurch.

"Why, business of yorn is it?" Ricky turned on the man, his fury surfacing.

Gently stepped between them. "Carteret, 'e used 'er." George lifted his head and spoke, looking at the ceiling. "Pretty badly, beat 'er. Sodomised 'er." He groped for better words, but none were there. "She…was pregnant."

"Pregnant…was…you said _was_?" For the first time since he's known him, Gently heard Ricky falter.

"She was about… well, no more than a couple of weeks, but a definite foetus." The doctor said it plain.

The tall, powerfully built biker fell back against the wall and slipped to a crouch, his head bent forward.

A child.

He'd just assumed she was taking the pill, posh girls like her all did. But he'd fathered a child on her. Nut job Hari with her pills, her shaven cunt, her pictures, her tortured talent. He'd…Why had she let him? Stupid bitch had let him, stupid beautiful, funny, sexy bitch. She'd had his child in her. Had she known? Did that matter? He wanted her that was all he was certain of. He wanted her back, whole, with or without a baby.

Unable to bear anymore, Piri slipped away. A couple of doors down the corridor she stepped into an empty room and cried quietly; for what, she was unsure.

"Where's Carteret?" His head thrown back, throat taut, Ricky was bouncing his helmet in his hands. Every nerve an unyielding coiled spring.

"We're not sure, 'e was on 'is way to London. My contact there informs me there's a big get-together in the drug trafficking world. Carteret's due at it." Gently knew what Ricky had in mind. He knew he couldn't allow it.

But John Bacchus, for once, understood Ricky.

"He's got a flat in Haythorpe, 12, the Mansions." His voice was level; he knew his boss would not be pleased by this, but…

Ricky tore up and away from the group. "You just keep 'er safe this time, keep 'er fucking alive." He shouted as he jabbed his helmet at them and ran.

The maze of corridors only served to fray the delicate hold he had on his rage. By the time he reached his bike, his fury was all that made him function. He took turns too fast, cornered so low that twice the kerb sliced through his jeans, scrapping viciously at his calf. And still he bent close over the Norton, the throb of engine almost, but not quite calming him.

Haythorpe was the posh, leafy section of the city, full of Edwardian town houses. Upper crust 'cottages' and exclusive apartment blocks. The Mansions was easy to find. There was no chance he would be there, but Ricky was prepared to break in, strong arm someone, anything to find where Carteret had gone, and how he could get there.

Then fate and Arnold Carteret's arrogance stepped in.

As Ricky pulled the bike to a halt at the wide gravelled driveway of the imposing building, Carteret stepped out of the main doors, a uniformed doorman carrying a suitcase following him. It was hefted into the boot a 1958 red MG classic convertible.

Uncle Arnie was taking his time. He knew the police were looking for him. The doorman had told him of their visit. He was well paid to keep his mouth shut and knew better than to cross a man like Carteret.

Ricky pulled of his helmet and launched himself across the gravel. "CARTERET, YA MURDERING BASTARD!" His words were muted by the surrounding wall of trees, but Carteret heard the shout well enough.

"Well, well… long time no see Rick. What brings you …?"

Ricky barrelled into him, almost bringing him to the ground.

"Christ you lunatic, what the hell…"

"Ya evil fucking shite, when does it stop with ya…? Ever?" Ricky lunged again, this time he did bring him down. Kneeling over him, breathing hard, his hands around Carteret's throat, Ricky's word's catching painfully in his throat, "Hari Colbert, ya fucking sodomised her, ya bastard!" He was all but sobbing the words out. His hands tightening, cutting the air off.

Carteret managed to make a sound that actually sounded like a laugh.

"Hari…" He gulped air. "And you didn't? There's nothing you can't do to that stupid little tart…" he spat. "I knew it was you she was fucking…saw the pictures…would have known that cock anywhere."

Ricky drew his fist back and punched, he was rewarded with the sickening sound of Carteret's nose smashing. But still the man laughed. "What's the matter, you thought you had exclusive rights?" Blood was pouring over his lips and chin, but he shook his head and struggled to throw Ricky off.

Ricky let rip with the other fist, cracking a jaw bone.

"She was pregnant, you snivelling little shite, she was havin' my kid!" The words were the howl of a wounded animal.

Carteret took the opening; Ricky had leant back away from him. He rolled out from the tangle of flailing arms and legs. Both men scrambled to their feet, but Ricky stumbled, and Carteret was up and opening the car door. Ricky dived for him, but missed and rolled away as the older man gunned the sport car's motor, reaching the road in seconds. On his feet at last Ricky vaulted onto the bike and turned the engine over revving the powerful machine. He knew he could catch Carteret; it was just a case of how he'd kill him when he got him.

The MG was fast but Carteret was no race driver, he skidded and squealed a hand break turn, trying to evade the following bike. But Ricky had speed and manoeuvrability with the Norton, and was close on his tail.

By the time they were out on the coastal road, Carteret must have thought his car's speed alone would serve him, but he thought without Ricky's murderous intent as part of the equation.

They hit the double bend just before the Dice Café, and Ricky could see the little red car was losing it. The tyres were giving off smoke from the badly taken tight turns and the whole car swerved dangerously close to the cliff edge too often for Carteret to be concentrating.

Maybe the pain of his broken jaw and nose was getting in the way, Ricky smiled to himself viciously.

Ricky was conscious of the back end of the small car swaying out. Carteret obviously thought he had the vehicle under his control, as he steered into the swerve, but he lost it and suddenly the sports car flipped into the air. It rolled over sideways, missing the bike, inches. But Ricky was caught by the force of the sharp turn he had to make, and the Norton slammed down on top of him.

His leg caught under the solid weight of the machine, he felt the searing pain, as bone ripped though flesh in several places. His head shot up as an explosion tore the bonnet from the chassis of the MG, and he saw Carteret desperately trying to free himself.

Ricky hauled his pain racked body towards the car and tried to pull open the door, but it was jammed. He pulled again, dragging his whole weight down on the handle. The door sprang open and Carteret slumped out, unconscious now.

All Ricky could think of was punching the limp body again.

That's when the petrol tank exploded and he stopped thinking at all.


	24. Chapter 24

The Road 24

"The style is quite expressionistic don't you think?"

"Actually, I prefer Hockney, more flow there. This is almost…" A dismissive shoulder was turned.

Hari turned away from the small knot of people gathered around the centre piece of the exhibition, Male Nudes 1 to 5.

"Oh, no not Baconesque, he's so brutal, so raw. This is far more…"

"Yes, I know what you mean, I love the way she's caught the really quintessentially sensual energy of the male form at rest."

She groaned inwardly as she caught another snatch of conversation about her work.

Listening to the comments made her uncomfortable in the beginning, but now she shut down, nodded and smiled. Frankly she didn't care what they thought.

The show was one of those social events of the season, a place to see and be seen, dilettantes, diamonds and designer gowns.

A white-jacketed waiter passed carrying high a tray of champagne filled flutes. She reached up and snatched one, knocking the contents back quickly, shivered as the alcohol hit her empty stomach and wondered how long she would have to stay.

The only good thing about the evening, as far as she was concerned, was the dress she was wearing. She'd chosen an Ossie Clark number. Its fine black silk jersey was in a vaguely Grecian style, the neckline dramatically low, just above her waist, held there with a silver buckle. The curve of her breasts gently draped by the soft fabric. It swept at the floor, moving in graceful whispers with her body. Her makeup was at the minimum, a slight trace of wine coloured lipstick, a hint of kohl at her eyes. The tumble of long blonde twisting coils had gone; her hair was drastically short, making her look even younger than her twenty seven years. On both upper arms she wore identical silver slave bracelets. At her ears, simple drop pearls that had once belonged to her grandmother.

Men looked at her with rapacious eyes. They wanted her, tried to please her, seduce her, court her even. But she was disinterested in them; they lacked…something, left her wanting, empty. The ache was still there, but the one cure she'd found, she'd thrown away.

Adam, her agent was smoozing a prospective buyer, Hari had been told his name, but forgotten it. She wanted gone from this place, wanted to go home.

"Well, if I'm half as good as I know I am, you my darling are a cool five grand better off," Adam whispered as he glided past her, still engaging with the buyer.

Hari smiled. "Is there no end to your talents?" Her laugh was low and soft. It was a stupid amount of money, but she'd find a useful route for it. St. Munnies premature baby unit needed the new monitors; that should leave some change for maybe a couple of extra incubators. She'd have to look into it. In the three years since the loss of her own child, the unit had become almost an obsession. The whole money thing stunned her. She was no starving artist. Grandpa Vaisey, bless his twisted little heart, had left her a suitably large amount to ruin her life on. And she had tried quite hard to carry on the family tradition of frail, tragic women. But she'd failed; her tragedies had forced her to deal with the world on its terms.

And in the art world, 'when you're hot…you're hot'. In the art world, she was on fire. Money followed, lots of it.

She put the champagne glass down and made her way to the gallery office, hoping to hide for a while.

"Ya painted uz while I were sleepin'?" The familiar voice from behind her, sounded aggrieved. "And I _never_ felt the need ta wank when we were in bed." The rich warmth and low husked tones made her belly flip. Turning too quickly she almost fell into Ricky's lap. He was seated in a wheelchair, but still Ricky. His hair longer, fell forward, made him look younger. A familiar knowing smirk on his narrow lips.

"Christ…what…?"

"_I said,_ I never…"

"Artistic license" she said quickly as she stared at him.

Every other man there was in a dinner suit, but Ricky's long legs were encased in dark denim, white shirt open at the throat. His jean jacket was battered looking; there was an ink stain at the breast pocket. And he was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Hari was trembling.

His eyes ran over the boyish hair, down to the much less boyish breasts. "Ya tits er bigger." The sardonic smile never left his lips, but his eyes dared her to mention the chair.

"Your ego's about the same though." She glanced up at Piri who stood behind him, looking disapprovingly between the two of them. Dislike staining her pretty face.

"Ma cocks not that big either." He was enjoying himself, his tone conversational.

"Not far off, anyway I like that image. It's my painting after all." She found herself laughing, but not sure if it was just nerves or a sense of relief. "I took Polaroid's, so it's from life."

Piri actually sneered. "It is demeaning to see this, it is filth."

"Fa Christ sake, go look at the other prettier pictures then will ya?"

The woman looked impassive, but the hostility throbbed tangibly in the air around her.

Adam was back, looking curiously between Hari and Ricky. He grinned. "It's you, you're 1 to 5. Well, well…she was so secretive about your identity; if it wasn't for the photos I'd said you were an invention." He held out his hand.

Ricky took it and looked speculatively between them. "Is this ya lover now?" He glanced away as he said it, pretending only vague interested.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Hari groaned.

Adam laughed. "Lovely as she undoubtedly is, Hari's the wrong sex for me." But he recognised the vibes and diplomatically turned to Piri. "Would you like a glass of the Bollinger? It's a bit of a beast, but very palatable."

She sniffed her dissatisfaction with Ricky, but she knew she'd lost.

"That's right, pet, you take your time," Ricky said as she went.

"You shouldn't talk to her like that, she's…"

"Ya know nothing about her or what she's like. So stay out of it." He was irritated.

But she wasn't surprised when he caught her wrist, turning it. "Ya're looking fine." He stroked the delicate inner flesh with his thumb. "But then, ya always did."

"What are you doing in London? I didn't think…" His touch was glorious, but dreaded.

"That cripples travel?" The words dripped with theatrical sarcasm. He looked up, a quizzical deriding smile on the mouth she longed for.

"No…I didn't think you'd come…here. That you want to…" Words failed her.

"Heard a lot about ya work." He glanced about him, raised an eyebrow and sniffed. "Thought I'd come and see for meself like." He shrugged and looked at her critically. "Don't know if I like ya hair that way…"

Hari tried to ease herself from him. "I read your book, it was good…I didn't expect you to write a novel." She wouldn't mention his second book. It was poetry, She read only one piece and could go no further. It was plainly about her; it didn't name her of course, but it talked of the hurt women caused him in their selfish, careless search for release.

"Needed somethin' to do, shit load of time on ma hands…" He was watching her avoid his eyes. The grip didn't loosen, just held her there. "Ya didn't come?" His voice was low, it was not a question, it was an accusation.

"I was advised to stay away, that you weren't …up to having me there."

"Funny that, I got the impression ya ran away." He let go of her with an off-hand gesture.

Hari almost stumbled back.

But she'd understood that he hadn't wanted to see her. She knew what she'd done. She'd let his child die, then taken the road from him. What could he want with her now, but to punish?

"Do ya still have the photos?" He sat back, looking at her, his head to one side, defying her to say no.

"Are you sure? Maybe you'd…"

"What? Not want to see meself whole? I think I can take it." He pushed on the wheels of the chair, impelling Hari forward.

The gallery office was designer tasteful. A smoked glass desk covered in art catalogues and high-end glossy magazines, behind it a tall black leather swivel chair. Two Hockney's hung on the opposite wall and a large print of a Da Vinci cartoon, on the wall behind. Against the far wall a long low Barcelona style sofa, a sheaf of photos lay discarded

"I didn't want to forget…" She scooped them up, her back to him. She was desperate to escape what she wanted, what she needed, his scorn, hateful words to scour her guilt. Anything he would loose on her, she would take anything. "They should have formed part of the exhibit, but I…" She looked at the pictures. "I wanted to remember how beautiful you were."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And ya are still a nut job then? But looking good on it girl."

She didn't turn to him, she couldn't. "Is it good with her?" She felt like a fool saying it.

"Christ how good can it get? She treats me like a fuckin' invalid."

"What would you have her treat you like?"

"Nothing…I don't want her treating me like anythin'." He dismissed Piri devotion to him. "She wanted ta be a nun ya know. She shuda, and left me alone." He had tired of Piri's love of martyrdom long since.

"I'm sorry…" Hari's voice was quiet; she still couldn't bear to look at him. Her skin was on fire.

"Ya too kind painter lady."

The door opened and Hari turned and looked up.

Piri stood like the ghost at the wedding feast. "Are you coming?"

"Not yet, but I've no doubt I will at some point."

Piri shot Hari a look of molten disgust and slammed the door behind her.

They both laughed.

"That was nasty; she's protecting you from me."

"Nah, she's made me her project. I corrupted her and now I'm payin' the price."

"Is she good?"

"In bed? I don't know, I lost interest." He sighed comically. "She prays at inopportune moments. Auntie Pip say's it a psycho compulsive behavioural response, stemming from a repressed childhood trauma." He rolled his eyes and added, "I think she liked sex more than she thought she would and she's makin' me pay for it."

"She's looked after you, don't…"

"I am not an invalid Hari. She stopped Big Bob coming ta see me fa Christ sake, Big Bob!"

Hari laughed.

He liked hearing her laugh. "Are ya sorry for uz chickie?" His hand snaked across her hip.

"Why should I be sorry for you?" She sighed, she still wanted him.

She would always want him.

Moving behind, she breathed in his scent, and slowly let her finger stroke below his ear. "I liked the noises you made…I liked doing what you told me…I liked your mouth…here." She touched her breast. He couldn't see where she touched, but it wasn't for him. "That's what I liked." Hari dragged herself away, dropping the pictures back on the sofa.

"Ah, jeez, see now I'm gonna have to fuck ya chickie…Christ but ya smell good…"

Ricky was suddenly standing behind her; she turned and collided with his hard body. Trying to move, pulling away in shock, his large hands gripped her hips and pulled her back onto him. "Oh no ya don't. Ya forget I can smell ya, remember…I know ya…" His mouth was on her neck biting, sucking the sensitive softness there.

"But your leg, they…she said…I thought…" Hari groaned at the familiar drag of his teeth over her pulse point.

"Well, ya never were much of a one for thinkin' pet." He smiled and slid a palm under the silky fabric of her dress, cupping her breast, squeezing softly. "Smashed hip, fractured skull, broken arm. Nothin' much." He bit her nape and she shivered. "Got a new hip a month ago. A canny wee bloke in Burma, he uses ivory…would ya credit it?"

"And you can…I mean it's OK to…"

"Do I have to point out it was ma hip got smashed…not ma cock?"

"Oh, shit, shit, shit." She was losing any hold she had.

Wincing once, Ricky swung round, sitting himself on the sofa, pulling Hari on top, so she was straddling him.

"We can't, there are too many people out there, Piri might…" Hari protested half heartedly. She wanted this so much.

"Not a thing that used to bother ya?" He nuzzled her breast, pulling a tight nipple delicately with his teeth. He loved that she was wearing no underwear. Hari was so ready for him, had she been waiting?

"But…ah…yes, I mean…no…oh fuck. Ricky please…" The feel of his hands under her dress, stroking her belly, her thighs, deliberately not touching her _there_, was driving her mad. She desperately fumbled with his fly.

"Oh, careful angel!" Ricky grinned and released himself, easing his jeans down his hips.

Hari was kneeling above him, the dress now off her shoulders, draped at her elbows, her breasts wet from his tongue, her mouth open in a wanting, breathless moue.

He had never wanted her more. "Now, that's much better…ya just ease…"

Hari let herself slide down onto him and tightened every muscle below the waist, drawing herself up as she did.

"Christ! Yea, that's it angel!" He rose up into her, hard. Taking her face in his hands he kissed her. In contrast with what his cock was doing, his mouth sucked and nipped subtly at hers.

Then he noticed her tears.

"No…if ya gonna cry…" He thrust up pitilessly, with an animal grunt. "I'm gonna have to stop…fuckin' ya…"

Hari moaned and writhed on him, rising up again, almost pulling off him. "Technically?...I think I'm...fucking...you." She sank back and it was his turn to moan.

"OK…ah...next time…oh, jeez, yes...next time…I'm gonna…yes, oh yes pet, that's…"

Hari was circling her hips, her arms behind her head, riding him, a picture of shameless abandonment.

"Next time…I'm gonna fuck ya…I won't!"

Hari grinned; Ricky frowned, knowing the dumbness of his words.

"We'll see…" She bit his ear.

They moved to a rhythm all their own. Hari tasted her tears, and bent to him. Her mouth open, tongue seeking its loving partner.

Neither heard the door open again, or would have cared if they did.

Piri watched them kissing as they fucked, and didn't move. She knew whatever she and Ricky had, was nothing compared to this; she hated it, but knew it was time to go.

The door closed silently as the lovers came together, laughing in their release.

Mount Florida Nursing Home

"Yes, nurse, I know. The doctors know. There is a very small chance of some motor and muscular recovery. Possibly the brain function is improving, but only time will tell. Meanwhile, we continue with the physio. Any more changes and you come to me directly."

In the stark white room, in the stark white bed, Arnold Carteret lay connected to a respirator. All but his eyes covered in burns dressings.

And those eyes moved restlessly, but took in little around him. He was only conscious of whiteness and pain.


	25. Chapter 25

The Road Sorry

I do apologise for all the uploads, This story was missing a chapter and I knew no way of putting them back in proper order other than taking them all off and starting again. Added to which I have no idea how to put this lot on in one go, sorry again.

Caty

xxxxx


	26. Chapter 26

The Road Sorry

I do apologise for all the uploads, This story was missing a chapter and I knew no way of putting them back in proper order other than taking them all off and starting again. Added to which I have no idea how to put this lot on in one go, sorry again.

Caty

xxxxx


End file.
